Bound by Memories

(Necromancer Book 3)

Kaje Harper

Copyright © 2020 Kaje Harper

Cover Art © 2020 Kaje Harper

Proofreading by Ashley VanBuren

Formatting by Beaten Track Publishing – beatentrackpublishing.com

License Notes

All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the original purchaser of this e-book ONLY. No part of this e-book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without prior written permission of the author. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

Image/art disclaimer: Licensed material is being used for illustrative purposes only. Any person depicted is a model.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Content warning: For adult readers over the age of 18 only. This book contains explicit sexual situations between two men.

Christmastime brings out memories, and ghosts.

Silas tracks down a poltergeist haunting a local tree farm. Darien hopes to convince Silas that despite experiences with demons and hells, Christmas can still be fun. Pip tries to catch his first rat. And Grim watches from a high vantage point and a position of moral superiority— he has holiday memories of his own, but cats know how to keep a secret.

Contents

Acknowledgements

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8 – Grim

Excerpt from Don’t Plan to Stay

About the Author

Other Books by Kaje Harper

Acknowledgements

This holiday story for Darien, Silas, Grim, and Pip was a last-minute decision. Without the invaluable help of Kathy, Kris, and Jonathan, these words would never have reached the published page. You folks are the best— thank you enormously for the help and encouragement, the ideas and the commas, and all your hard work that made this story possible.

To everyone reading this series, thank you for your interest in my sto-ries; may whichever holidays you celebrate be peaceful, safe, and warm.

Chapter 1

Silas Thornwood paused in the doorway of his kitchen. His apprentice, partner— the young man who, in a ridiculously short time, had worked his way into Silas’s heart— stood by the sink, staring somberly out the window. Sharp winter light etched deeper lines at the corners of Darien’s eyes and lit the silver strands at his temple. Silas’s breath caught on a moment of loss. That’s what he’ll look like as an old man.

Loud thumps behind him yanked his attention around. He saw a small gray shape flash past, then a larger white one crashed into his shins. He grabbed for the door frame as Pip’s resilient little rat terrier body rebounded off his leg. The dog leaped across the kitchen.

“Got him!” Pip yelped breathlessly, then, “Aw, no,” as the rat ahead of him flattened to an impossible degree and slipped under the door to the pantry. Pip put on the brakes just in time to avoid slamming into the door and barked sharply. Then the pup shook himself hard and whirled around, a panting smile on his furry face. “Did you see that, Darien? I almost got him.”

“And almost took Silas out in the process.” Grimalkin, Silas’s big tomcat familiar, strolled past him, eyes on the pup. “You have to pay attention to more than one thing at a time, young Pip.”

“Oops.” Pip shifted his gaze to Silas’s face, his wagging tail drooping. “Did I hurt you? That rat ran fast!”

“No.” Silas couldn’t hold back a smile. “I can handle a bump on the shins.”

“Still, that was inexcusably clumsy.” Grim bopped the dog on the rump with one big paw, then jumped to the windowsill. “We have a lot of work to do.”

Darien turned away from the light, looking ten years younger with a smile brightening his face. “We don’t need Pip to hunt rats, Grim. You’re more than enough for the job.”

Grim bumped Darien’s hand with his cheek. “Of course. But rodent hunting’s good practice for the pup: body coordination and situational awareness. Which—” He bestowed a dark look on the small dog. “—are still deeply in need of work.”

“I almost got that one.” Pip bounced up and down. “I think it cheated. I think it was a magic rat.” He sniffed down along the pantry door. “That’s a tiny space. How did anything that size get through there? We have magic rats.”

Silas said, “Rats and mice have the ability to compress their bodies and even skulls, through narrow spaces. Grim will take care of that non-magical rat shortly, right?” He gave Grim a frown, because a rat in his kitchen became less amusing, once you took Pip out of the equation.

“In good time.” Grim stretched and sat neatly, staring out the window and ignoring him.

Pip snuffed once more, then tipped his face up at Darien. “What are we doing today? Can we go out? The snow has stopped. Almost.”

“Sure,” Darien said. “Give me a minute to finish my coffee, and I’ll go with you.”

“Yes! I want to see the snow.” Pip bounced out of the room and they heard his nails click down the hallway.

Grimalkin jumped down and strolled over to his dish. “I, on the other hand, have seen enough snow to last me a lifetime. I think a little snack is in order.” He fixed his eyes on Silas over his shoulder.

Obediently— damn it, who’s in charge here?— Silas opened the refrigerator, took out a few slivers of cooked chicken, and dropped them into Grim’s bowl.

As the cat bent over his treats, Darien drained his coffee, set the mug in the sink, and came toward Silas. “Are you going to walk with us, Si?”

“Maybe.” He wasn’t sure he liked the new nickname Darien had awarded him, and he definitely didn’t look forward to trudging through the snowfall they’d received overnight, but he’d brave more than a bit of snow to watch Darien, healthier than he’d been a couple of weeks ago, playing with his familiar. He followed Darien into the hall. “What were you thinking about, staring out the window?” You looked sad.

“Christmas is almost here.”

“I guess so. Yes.” The holiday hadn’t made much of an impression on him since he’d moved in with his own mentor at eighteen. Dealing with demons and the multitude of their hells leached away his faith in Christian theology. His mentor, Harrowsmith, had been an atheist, and old Vickery, who’d bequeathed him the house, had been a pagan. Years of listening to those two old men had given him a cynical view of any organized religion.

“I used to love the holiday when I was a kid.” Darien shrugged, downplaying the thought as unimportant, but wistfulness threaded his voice.

“All kids do, I guess.” His own words woke a memory of trying to rouse his father early on Christmas morning. Subtlety had not been his forte back then. Dad pretended to sleep, until my small-child excitement became frustration. Then he laughed and swooped me down the stairs in my pajamas. “I recall a pleasant moment or two.”

“The holidays have been pretty crappy since then. The first year I was in college…” Darien’s voice trailed off unhappily.

“What happened?”

“I went home, after four months gone.” Darien grimaced. “Dad was… not doing well. When Mom passed, he managed the bare minimum, working and being the single parent, and though he never seemed happy, we got along okay. He kept going through my high school years, I guess because he had to. Apparently, when I left for college, he kind of collapsed. I found out he’d quit his job. He just sat around the house, staring at the family pictures, so far away he’d jump when I spoke to him.”

“I’m sorry.”

“He acted like he didn’t even notice me. At one point I even tried to tell him I was a homosexual, just to… I don’t know. To shake him up? Make him see me? He said, ‘Don’t be silly. You’ve always been normal. Nothing like that.’ He’d leave the room if I mentioned anything he didn’t want to hear. I’d come back home, it was Christmas, and he didn’t seem to care. When I headed back to campus, I told him he should sell the house and move. Start somewhere new that would be better for him.”

“Sounds like good advice.”

“Yeah. Except I found out a few months later he got rid of the house, furniture, everything that wouldn’t fit in a suitcase. Jumped on a plane and went to Paris. I got a long-distance phone call at the dorm, from France. Two minutes, to save money. ‘Sorry, son, hope you didn’t need anything from the house.’ His new address and keep in touch. Then he was gone. He sent a card now and then.”

Silas knew Darien’s father now lived overseas, but he hadn’t heard this history. “Did you call him when things went bad?” When I let the ghosts have you? “You can call him now. Long distance isn’t prohibitively expensive.”

Darien shook his head.

“Or you might write to him?”

“Maybe.” Darien straightened his shoulders and glanced sideways at Silas. “I spent the holidays at a friend’s pad last year, but he’d gone all fake Indian, incense and curried rice. This year, maybe we can do Christmas right?”

“Um.” Silas didn’t want to dim the light in Darien’s eyes. “You’ll have to help me figure out what ‘right’ involves.”

“Like when we were kids.” Darien’s smile warmed Silas’s heart. “Lights and a tree and tinsel and cookies.”

“You want all that?”

“We don’t have to…” Darien slumped.

“No, sure, a few traditions will be fun.” He would do more than string some colored lights to keep Darien smiling.

Pip came bounding back to them. “Did you say cookies, Darien? Can they be chocolate? Grim says chocolate cookies are the best.”

“Grim’s pulling your leg,” Silas said.

Pip tilted his head, ears waving like semaphore flags. “No, he’s not. He’s not even here.”

“I meant he’s teasing you. Chocolate’s not good for dogs.”

“What about familiars though? Maybe familiar dogs can eat chocolate.”

“Gingerbread men,” Darien said. “You’ll love them.”

“Sounds great.” Pip bounced a few times. “Can we see the snow now?”

“Yeah.” Darien’s smile widened. “You know we got enough to bury you, right?”

“It’ll be exciting.” Pip led the way to the front door, where he stood shifting from foot to foot in impatience, as Silas and Darien put on coats and gloves and boots.

The arched roof over the front door hadn’t kept the snow off the front step and a clump fell inside as Silas pulled the door wide. Pip jumped back, pawed at the chilly blob, and eyed the foot-high drift across the doorway. “I’m taller than that!” With a leap, he cleared the doorsill and landed in the snow. “Yipe! Cold! Fun!”

Silas and Darien laughed together as Pip made his way down the steps in a series of bounds, spraying snow and landing with just his head and fast-moving tail-tip above the level of the pristine landscape. Silas grabbed a shovel out of the front closet. “Here, make a path for that idiot before he wears himself out.”

“I don’t need paths,” Pip exclaimed from the buried front walk. “I’m an explorer. Eep!” He slipped and disappeared for a moment but bounced back up before Silas could charge down to rescue him. “Watch out, Darien. There’s some slippery bits under there.”

“I’ll get the bag of sand,” Silas said, turning back toward the utility closet off the kitchen. “You keep an eye on our explorer.”

When he got back outside, Darien’s energetic shoveling made a cheerful sight. He’d already cleared the steps and started on the front path, tossing big shovelfuls aside. Pip snorted off under the bushes, plowing his way along the tracks left by a rabbit. Or maybe a squirrel— Silas was no naturalist. He began sprinkling sand on the ice Darien had exposed.

Suddenly Pip raised his head. “Someone’s coming.”

They all turned at the sound of a car approaching, crunching slowly along the imperfectly plowed street. Silas recognized Ferngold’s Coupe de Ville before he came to a stop at the bottom of the walkway. Ferngold got out, muffled in a greatcoat and scarf, and came around to where the plow had left a ridge of ice. Stopping there, he glared down at the obstacle between him and the path.

“Here,” Darien said. “Let me get that.”

Ferngold stood back as Darien cut a path through the ridge, tossing aside frozen blocks. Ferngold stepped onto the sidewalk and paused there until Darien got the hint and shoveled a narrow path up the walk to where he’d left off. Ferngold’s steps were no doubt mincing due to the ice underfoot, but his royal progression behind the shovel-slave left a bad taste in Silas’s mouth.

“Hey, Darien,” he said, letting his irritation override his good sense. “You think your spark spell could melt some of the snow?”

Darien turned, grinning, and stuck the shovel in a drift. “Can I?” After a quick glance around, he gestured, sketching a fire rune, and pulled in a breath. A loud sizzle and spark scuttled up the walkway from where he stood almost to Silas’s feet. In the magic’s wake, the snow sublimated, rising as vapor in the cold air, and settling to glaze the snowbanks on either side.

As well as the path. Oops. Silas quickly moved forward with his grit, fixing the footing. Passing Darien with an exchange of nods, Silas brushed off his sandy glove on his coat and reached his hand out to Ferngold, ignoring the sorcerer’s dark frown. “Good to see you, sir. Snowy weather we’re having.”

“Hmmph.” Whatever Ferngold had been about to say got sidetracked as he hesitated before shaking hands, safely gloved. Eventually he took Silas’s fingers in a light grip. “Yes. This mess is most annoying. The drive here stretched to almost an hour.”

“Goodness. You’d better come inside and warm up.”

“Luckily my car is quite comfortable.” He gestured at the DeVille, no doubt to remind the peons of the luxuries he commanded. “But I wouldn’t turn down a cup of coffee.”

“We can do that.”

Ferngold’s frown returned. “And we’ll talk about that profligate use of power you just encouraged. Melting snow? Really?”

“He has plenty to spare,” Silas said mildly, not minding one bit the gleam of jealousy in Ferngold’s eyes.

Pip took that minute to come bounding out of the snow and shake hard, landing a few flakes on Ferngold’s polished leather boots. “That was fun!” He rose on his hind legs to peer up at Ferngold, his nose working. “You’re a sorcerer. You have a lizard! Hello, my name is Pip. I’m with Darien.”

Ferngold stared down at him. “I thought the reports had to be in error.” He glared at Silas. “Why on earth did you have your brand-new apprentice seek out a familiar? That’s totally unacceptable!”

Silas would have protested, but he noticed Pip was shivering, despite his enthusiasm. “We should all go inside and get warm. I’ll explain what’s going on.”

“You’ll do more than explain.” Ferngold strode up the walk toward the steps.

Darien murmured, “Damn,” under his breath.

Silas tried to convey reassurance with a soft tone. “Pick up your chilly pup. We’ll be fine.”

Pip dashed ahead. “I’m not letting him get to our house first.” He dodged past Ferngold without quite tripping him, and sat on the doorstep up against the door, panting.

Silas climbed the steps and reached past Ferngold to touch off the wards and open the door. “Go on in, sir.”

Pip leaped in first, then paused uncertainly in the hall. Ferngold stamped the snow off his boot-soles on the mat and headed for the study, shoulders stiff, leaving damp traces on the floor.

Silas sighed as he kicked off his own boots. “Darien, make us some coffee, would you? And bring the cinnamon rolls Clarice sent us yesterday.” Anything to sweeten Ferngold’s temper.

“I don’t want to be sent off while the ‘adults’ talk,” Darien said.

“You are one of the adults.” Silas tugged his sleeve lightly. “I promise, I won’t say anything important until you return. But we’ll need every advantage we have, including food, to get him down off his outraged high horse.”

“We’ll just tell him we didn’t mean to…” Darien’s voice trailed off at Silas’s raised eyebrow. “Yeah, right. Sweet rolls coming up. You want brandy in that coffee?”

The idea had some merit, but Ferngold in a sanctimonious mood was more likely to find fault with morning drinking than enjoy the liquor. “No. He takes double cream, though.”

“Got it.” Darien hung away his coat and headed for the kitchen in sock feet, Pip at his heels, as Silas stepped into his slippers.

Silas eyed Darien’s unworn slippers, next to the boot tray. Some things never change. He took surprising comfort from that thought.

Grim came down the hallway, head cranked over his shoulder to stare at the study. “What does Ferngold want?”

“To evict Pip? Complain about me? Not sure yet.”

“Ah.” Grim narrowed his eyes up at him and licked his lips, slowly. “I’ll enjoy spending time with Clicks, the small gecko.”

Silas tried to admonish him with a head-shake, unsuccessfully, judging by Grim’s slowly lashing tail. “Come along, let’s see what brought Ferngold to our doorstep.”

Chapter 2

Darien frowned at the coffee maker, trying to hurry the brew along. Maybe if I put a tiny fire rune under the carafe… Or maybe not, since explosions and housefires would not improve Ferngold’s mood.

Nosy old buzzard.

Darien’s earlier emptiness— soothed by Pip’s enthusiasm and the fun of shoveling— crept back in to weigh him down. Another disapproving old man spoiling Christmas. It was a theme.

Pip nudged his leg, as if sensing his mood. He reached down to fondle the dog’s ears. I wonder what Dad would think of Pip. A dog, at least, he might approve of. Their family collie had died years before Mom, but his father always liked animals. He’s not a bad guy, really. Ferngold on the other hand…

The last drops of coffee slowed and stopped. Darien turned off the machine, opened the cupboard, and hesitated. Basic? Fancy? What would back up Silas the best?

He ended up filling the nicest mugs, adding a little pitcher for the cream, a sugar bowl, and the sweet rolls, and putting everything on a souvenir tray from… he peered at the picture and writing… Kew Gardens, 1893. Huh. That’d better be fancy enough for Ferngold. Might remind the old fart of his very distant youth. He added a couple of clean napkins, spoons.

Pip bounced at his side. “The rolls smell really good. Is cinnamon okay for dogs?”

“As far as I know.” Darien broke off a tiny piece for him. “Now, try to, um.” He didn’t want to say behave yourself like some kind of schoolmarm. “That’s Ferngold, the head of the local Guild council. He’s not a fan of, well, much of anything that isn’t sober and serious.”

“I’ll be serious.” Pip walked to the doorway with stiff steps, then glanced over his shoulder with his eyes bright.

Oh, God. Darien picked up the tray and headed for Silas’s study.

The door stood ajar, but he couldn’t hear any voices. He used a hip-bump to swing the door wide and set the tray on the desk. Silas stood behind the heavy antique, with Ferngold looming across from him, coat still on though unbuttoned, his arms folded. Darien could almost see the air between them vibrating.

“Shall I take your coat, sir?” Darien asked. See, look at me making nice.

Ferngold gave him a chilly stare, but pulled out of his sleeves and held his greatcoat out.

Darien took it, glanced around the coat-tree-deprived room, and folded the heavy garment as neatly as he could over the back of one of the chairs.

Ferngold turned to Silas. “Now that your apprentice is here, are you ready to listen to me?”

“Can we have sweet rolls while we listen?” Pip asked, then his tail drooped. “Sorry. But good food would make people happier, right?”

Silas said, “Please help yourself to coffee and rolls, sir, and have a seat. I’ll tell you how this odd match came about.”

Darien wasn’t crazy about being called odd but Silas had a decade more experience in knowing how to suck up to Ferngold. He picked up his mug— black coffee for this discussion, thank you very much— and leaned on the wall across from Ferngold, with Pip at his side, watching Silas.

Ferngold hesitated, but the aroma of a fresh brew and the glistening icing worked their magic. He took a mug, emptied the cream jug to whiten his coffee, and set two buns on a plate on his knee. “Explain, Thornwood.”

Silas gave him a succinct rundown of Pip’s unexpected arrival— not mentioning the pup’s confession of having snuggled his sibling during the moment of the transition. “We don’t know how or why he managed to cross over to our world, but he’s firmly bonded to Darien, so we’re making the best of things.”

“Humph.” Ferngold set his already-empty plate on the corner of the desk and bent down to stare at Pip. “Come here, familiar.”

“I’m Pip.” The little dog went and sat in front of Ferngold.

“What are you doing here? Why did you bond with an apprentice instead of the sorcerer who called you?”

“I don’t know who called me,” Pip said. “I was there, and then I was here, out under the sky. I’m a dog and it’s fun. Darien smelled so good, I knew he was mine.”

“It doesn’t work that way.” Ferngold’s tone rose. “You should have appeared in a casting circle, with the practitioner who’d sent his appeal to your world.”

“There wasn’t a circle. There was snow, though, and Grim.” Pip tipped his nose up at the bookcase where Grim crouched, watching them.

“Ah, yes, Grimalkin.” Ferngold peered up at the cat. “You’re a senior familiar. What do you make of this? Why did you allow this… irresponsible bonding?”

“Allow?” Grim yawned. “Are you under the impression familiars control each other? Have you asked Clicks about that?”

From Ferngold’s front pocket, the gecko’s high voice said, “We’re independent entities. No one controls us.”

Ferngold stroked his pocket, a surprisingly gentle gesture. “Of course. I’m not implying otherwise. But this pairing is very irregular. Quite upends the normal practice. The boy and the dog should come to the Guild hall right away. I’ll need to study them in detail, to see how this could possibly have occurred, and what can be done about them.”

“He’s not a boy,” Silas said.

“I’m not a boy,” Darien said over the top of him. He tried to give Silas a look that said both Thank you and don’t fight my battles for me. He doubted the full message came across, but Silas did stop talking. “We’re not some kind of specimens for you to study. Pip’s here now, he’s my familiar, and there’s nothing to be done about us.”

“You forget yourself,” Ferngold snapped. “You’re still subject to Guild authority.”

Darien didn’t know exactly how far Guild authority went. Are there Guild policemen? Something to ask Silas later. “I’m not trying to make trouble. But I don’t see how my familiar is a Guild problem. Lots of sorcerers have a familiar. You do.”

“We can’t have chaos.” Ferngold’s lips twisted. “Familiars popping up out of thin air, bonding with anyone just walking by. Untrained youngsters skipping all their training.”

Grim said, “If another familiar appears unsummoned, those worries may be justified. But I think Pip is unique.”

Pip’s tail thumped the floor in a fast tattoo.

Grim opened his mouth, then glanced at Ferngold and said nothing, his tail twitching. Darien imagined him swallowing back some Pip-squashing remark, for solidarity in front of the Guild sorcerer, and smiled to himself.

“Well.” Ferngold took another long stare at Pip. “We’ll leave the topic open, for now. But you may be assured I’ll bring this irregular pairing up at the next council meeting.”

Silas said, “Why did you come out here on such a snowy day, sir? I can’t imagine the rumors justified such a trek.”

“What? No.” Ferngold straightened. “No, I have another job for you.”

“Job?”

“A simple one. A poltergeist. The usual fee.”

“You didn’t choose to phone me?”

“The snow brought down the phone lines somewhere in your area. Damned inconvenience, you living out here. The haunting site is a seasonal business, so the proprietor needs this ’geist cleared out immediately.”

Silas said. “Tell me the details.”

“Mr. Stevenson owns the local Christmas tree farm. This year, he opened up a fallow section for cutting, and his customers who frequented that area heard unexplained noises, crying and other unpleasantness. They searched and found no footprints in the snow, no explanation. His customers became uneasy enough to leave without making purchases.”

“Potential ghost,” Silas agreed.

“Yes, of course. Then he had two reports of clients who had pinecones thrown at them, and yesterday a dead tree toppled and almost hit a gentleman. A family reported a feeling of dread that drove them from the lot. The haunting has become bad for his business.”

“I imagine,” Silas said in a very bland voice. “Of course, I’ll see what I can do.”

“Only a week to Christmas,” Ferngold said. “He offered us a nice bonus if we can get his problem taken care of by tomorrow.”

That explained Ferngold taking his fancy car out on the snowy streets. Darien had a feeling that the word “bonus” was very useful when talking to Ferngold.

“If I complete this tonight, I get the bonus on top of the standard fee?” Silas asked.

“Half the amount, per usual.” Ferngold reached into a pocket and came out with a folded paper. “I’ve written the details there. The phone number won’t be much use to you, but I can potentially call him to confirm, when I arrive home.”

“Please do.” Silas set the paper aside on his desk. “Tell him we’ll be there at sunset. Four-thirty.”

“Very well.” Ferngold drained the dregs of his coffee and set the mug back on the desk. “I expect to hear of your success.”

As he stood, his gecko familiar scurried out of his front pocket and up to his shoulder, peering down at Pip. “We haven’t forgotten the familiar problem.” Clicks made a whirring sound. “What’s your actual name, puppy? Where are you from? Which school?”

Grim leaped to land on the desk with a thud, bright eyes fixed on the gecko, his tail-tip flicking. “No. Don’t answer that, Pip. Really, my dear scaly friend, you know the rules. No names, no details.”

The gecko rolled his lidless eyes. “This is a unique situation.”

“Not sufficiently unique.” Grim gave the gecko a hard stare, until the lizard clicked rapidly and scuttled back down into Ferngold’s pocket.

Ferngold cleared his throat. “We will address this situation at a full meeting. For now, I expect to hear word when you’ve completed your little task.”

“Yes, of course.” Silas came out from behind the desk and held Ferngold’s coat for him. “Allow me, sir.”

Ferngold made a disgruntled sound, but let Silas valet him and then escort him out.

Darien waited until he’d heard the front door open and close to say, “Little task.”

“So a poltergeist should be,” Grim noted. “Although since you’ve come into our lives, there has been a new level of… unpredictability.”

“The ghost two days ago was nothing special.” Silas had been called out to deal with someone moaning in an old barn. He hadn’t needed more than ten minutes to lure and dispatch the ghost. That’d been boring, even. How weird has my life become, that Silas sending a ghost to its rest is boring?

“We can live in hope, young Darien.” Grim jumped to the floor and glanced at Pip. “You, come along. We’ll review poltergeist lore.”

“My Fetch has gotten stronger,” Pip said proudly. “I’ll protect everyone.”

“You do that. After you memorize the parts that don’t involve Fetching.” Grim led the way out. Pip gave Darien a panting smile and little tail-wag, but trotted after the cat obediently.

Silas came back in, dusting his hands on his thighs. “Well, that went better than I expected.”

“It did?”

“Heck, yes. I thought Ferngold might have a fit and insist on trying to confiscate Pip.”

“Can they do that?” Screw them all!

“No. Not really. Threaten, sure, but we don’t have to listen.”

“Are there Guild police who’d come after us?”

“Not as such. If the council thought you and Pip were a real threat, they would draft useful members to contain you. But serving is voluntary, and no sorcerer is going to jump at the chance to take someone’s familiar away from them.”

“Not even if they thought they might get him instead?” That new nightmare haunted his sleep— Pip being dragged off to the sorcerer he was supposed to be with. To add to the hissing voices and Crosby’s head turning into a crow with fiery eyes and Silas in the River— stop thinking about that shit.

Silas slung an arm around his shoulders. “You’re bonded. If Grimalkin says so, you can rest assured its undeniable. You’re not going to lose him.”

Darien leaned against him. “Good. Because yeah, not an option.”

Silas turned his loose embrace into a hug, then bent and kissed Darien. Darien threaded his fingers in Silas’s hair and returned the kiss, soft and sweet, because this part the bastards on the council could never take from them. They could keep me from fucking him. They can’t keep me from loving him.

His stomach still flip-flopped in odd ways when he let himself think those words. I love him. Silas Thornwood. Silas’s strong arms tightened around his shoulders. Darien tangled his fingers in Silas’s hair and pulled him down harder. Mine. He parted Silas’s lips with his tongue. Silas sighed and opened for him. Yes.

When they pulled back, Silas’s lips looked reddened from Darien’s nips, and his chin glistened damply. Silas swiped the back of his hand across his mouth and grinned. “We have hours to kill till sundown. Whatever shall we do to fill them?”

“I have some ideas.” Darien let go and tugged his shirt straight. “And after that, I’m going to write to my father.”

“Really?” Silas’s tone became encouraging. “Tell me if I can help.”

Not much you can do for me in this. Except of course, being there. Which is worth more than all the rest. “Maybe enough stamps for air-mail to France?”

“Of course. Envelope and paper too, if you need them.”

“Right. Good idea. Afterward.” He took Silas’s long fingers in his, and tugged him toward the doorway. Silas followed willingly. An edge of surprise still sharpened Darien’s pleasure, each time Silas let him take the lead, take control. Not just let but wanted him to. “I’m going to suck you hard, and then fuck you. Before I write to my father.”

“The mouth on you,” Silas said cheerfully, not for the first time.

“My mouth on you is the point.” Mouth, hands, heart— God help me, someday I’ll have to tell my father I’m in love, even if the name and sex have to stay a secret. I hope he’ll be happy for me.

Picking up the pace, he led Silas up the stairs to their room.

Chapter 3

They pulled into the Christmas tree lot just before dusk. Two other cars occupied spaces close to the entrance, but Silas pulled the Studebaker into the farthest spot, scanning the location to get a feel for the setup. A small wooden hut with a stovepipe through the roof stood on the opposite corner of the lot. Three rows of rope fencing supported an array of cut pines and firs, while a sign said, “Cut Your Own” with an arrow pointing off to the left. Strings of twinkling white and colored electric lights haphazardly festooned the hut and fences.

The farm was well outside the town limits. All around them, tall woods loomed up against the colorful sky. To the left, the natural mix of pine, oak, and poplar was replaced by a monoculture of towering firs, perhaps what remained of a long-ago planting, grown out of range for anything except New York’s Rockefeller Center.

Darien jumped out of the car and held the door for the familiars to follow him. Silas watched him turn in a circle and breathe deep. “I love the smell of pine trees, don’t you, Si?”

Silas leaned on his open doorframe. The sun had fallen below the treeline, and the filtered mellow light was kind, making Darien look almost like the boy who’d stumbled in through Silas’s wards. I nearly sent him away. He couldn’t imagine his home without Darien now.

Pip whirled in a circle and barked a few times at the hut, the simple sound loud and cheerful, but startling, when Silas was used to the pup’s words. Unending words. What do you know, he is capable of caution.

A big man in a plaid parka came out of the doorway, tugging on a wool hat, and strode over to them. He nodded a greeting, hands shoved deep in his jacket pockets as if warding off a handshake. “Howdy, folks, what can I do for you? Six-footer? Seven?”

“Are you Mr. Stevenson?”

“That’s me. You can call me Bob.”

Silas shut his door. “You asked for help with a ghost problem.”

“Oh, you’re those fellas?” He eyed them up and down. “You don’t look like much. No insult intended. Is that your dog?”

Darien said, “Yes. Pip. We thought he could come along for the run. Is that all right?”

“No nose off my face. Lots of folks bring their dogs. Is he magic too?” The man laughed.

Silas chuckled in return. “The ghosts are my domain. Why don’t you tell me what the problem seems to be.”

Stevenson lowered his voice. “It’s in lot seventeen. I just opened that lot up this year, four- and five-footers in there ready to harvest. I didn’t notice anything myself, mind, and I harvested a couple dozen before the snow, for the cut variety.” He waved at the trees leaning on the rope fences. “But when folks started going back there to cut their own, well, they started… hearing things.”

“What sort of things?”

“Someone calling. Crying, like. Someone lost. I went back with the first two families and we searched. Nothing there, neither time. Now, even people who don’t hear anything say the woods feel spooky back there, and they don’t stick around to cut their tree. I didn’t send people there for a couple weeks, but then the other small-tree section got picked over, so I opened seventeen up again.”

“What happened?”

“More crying. A couple of women said they had pinecones thrown at them. Hit their hair. I tried to tell ’em squirrels will do that, but they said there were none about. They were spooked.”

“So you called my Guild?”

“Well, not then. I figured the fuss would blow over. There’s no such thing as ghosts, really. Just a bit of nonsense. But then a family out there had a dead poplar come crashing down. Fell right across their path. Scared the bejesus out of ’em. They said someone laughed, laughed and shouted. That night, I was reading the evening paper and I seen this ad, folks who take care of supposed ghosts and hauntings. So I called.”

“And here we are.”

“You’re gonna prove the crying’s a hoax, right? Figure out who’s making trouble?”

The effects of the Great Spell often made people waver between belief and disbelief. Stevenson’s skepticism was irrelevant, as long as he paid the bill. Silas said reassuringly, “One way or another, we’ll make sure your problem is solved.”

“Good. ’Cause this business of mine is a two months of the year thing. I can’t afford folks running off scared, losing customers this close to Christmas. I got bills to pay.”

Darien said, “Where’s the lot you’re worried about?”

“Not so much worried. Annoyed, more like.” The man pulled one work-gloved hand out of his pocket to point down a rutted logging road. “That way. Seventeen’s just past five, off to the north.” He strode back to his hut without another word.

“Because of course seventeen is next to five,” Darien murmured. “What now?”

“Bundle up,” Silas said, even though he liked the rosy color rising in Darien’s cheeks. His lover looked so much healthier than just two weeks ago, though in bed that morning he’d found he could still count ribs in Darien’s lean chest— Focus. “I’ll bring my things.” He pulled out a brown leather satchel from the back seat.

Darien opened his coat and said, “Up, Pip.” The little dog leaped into his arms and he zipped the coat around Pip until just his head stuck out the top. Darien fished his mittens out of his pockets and tugged them on. “Where’s Grim?”

“Gone on ahead,” Pip said quietly. “Down the path.”

“Right. This way.” Silas led off.

The sun set as they walked, and vibrant colors spread across the sky. Darien stopped and tipped his head up, staring at the gilt-edged clouds overhead. “I’d almost forgotten how much I love sunsets. The library on campus had a tower with windows on all sides, and I’d sometimes sit up there to watch the sun go down.”

“Do you miss college?” Silas held his breath.

“Some things, yeah, a bit. But I’m studying and learning again now. Not hiding in that cold little room…” Darien’s voice trailed off for a second, then he glanced over and a wicked grin crossed his face. “There are major compensations.”

Pip swiped a tongue at his neck. “Like me!”

Darien chuckled. “Yep. One of them is exactly like you. But quit licking me. Tonight’s too cold for wet skin.”

“Sorry. You taste good.” Pip settled deeper into the front of Darien’s jacket.

“Are we working?” Grim’s voice came from the woods ahead. “Or are we sightseeing?”

“Coming,” Silas said. “What’ve you found?”

As they neared the first trees, Grim jumped down from a branch to the packed snow at their feet. “Nothing yet. The other humans are somewhere off to the east, too far to see or hear us unless you scream.”

“I shall endeavor not to then,” Silas said dryly, pleased to hear Darien snort.

They passed a wooden sign with a red-painted “5,” in front of rows of trees slightly taller than Silas. A hundred yards farther on, a split-rail fence edged a field of smaller firs. A bright red “17” drew attention to a gap in the fence halfway down, but no recent footprints broke the new snowfall leading off from the road. Grim eyed the foot-deep white snow and turned a demanding gaze up at Silas. “Give me a lift.”

“Sure.” He braced himself as twenty pounds of tomcat landed on his shoulders.

Grim draped himself around Silas’s neck, heavy and warm. “Onward.”

Silas was glad of his good boots, as they turned off the path and through the gap. The rapidly falling dusk brought a deeper chill, and their breath began to show in frosty vapors. A linear depression in the new snow marked a likely path between the trees. “I assume they’d have come this way, selecting a tree to cut.” He strode forward, keeping an eye out for signs of cut stumps where the encounters might’ve taken place.

They were about fifty feet into the lot when he detected a shift in the air. Sketching a rune, he sent a seeking spell out. There. One ping, strong and solid. “There’s a ghost, all right.”

“Now what?” Darien asked.

“We find a secluded spot and try the usual procedure with my power as the lure.”

Pip stuck his head up farther out of Darien’s coat. “I’ll keep watch.”

“Good idea.” Silas led the way between the small trees, then began tromping the snow down in a circle. As soon as Darien caught on, he started helping, one arm against his chest to cradle Pip, stamping the snow flat into a lumpy, widening clearing. When they had an area perhaps ten feet across, Silas said, “That should be enough.” Grim leaped off his shoulders to the packed snow, prowling the periphery.

Silas set his satchel down and opened the flap. He located the flashlight and passed the handle to Darien in the gathering gloom. An inside pocket held his pouches of powdered chalks, and he pulled out a bag of blue. “I’m going to draw the circle and see if we can bring the ghost near. Shine a light for me?” He pulled off his mittens to handle the bag more precisely, and managed a reasonable arc with his runes, as Darien led him around the circle with the flashlight beam. He left his circle-gate ready for the lock and tucked his chilled hand with the bag into a pocket.

Grim peered outward to the trees. “I hear something.”

“Me too,” Pip said. “Crying.” He wriggled out of Darien’s jacket and jumped to the trampled snow, sniffing hard.

“Yes.” Grim tilted his head. “That way.”

Darien shone his light off in the direction of Grim’s stare, but the beam petered out among ordinary firs and unbroken snow. They all stood silently, senses on alert.

A moment later, Silas made out a woman’s voice, or perhaps an older child, crying wordlessly. He thinned down his shields, ramping his power up a notch to make the lure shine clearer. Here, ghost, come on over.

Darien played his flashlight over the greens of the short fir trees and the sparkling snow. A soft breeze picked up, chilling the back of Silas’s neck, and he missed Grim’s warmth.

“There,” Grim said.

A hazy white shape drifted toward them between the trees. Usually with a poltergeist, Silas could make out a clear human figure, a form that echoed their appearance in life, but this one looked tattered and very translucent. The ghost came closer, then began to circle them. Silas saw Darien’s shields power up in a gold glow, as they all turned in unison to keep the spectral visitor in sight.

Here, ghost. I have what you need.

The poltergeist passed around and around, the weeping noise muffled to an occasional whimper.

“I’m getting dizzy,” Darien muttered after the fifth circuit. “What’s it waiting for?”

“Don’t know.” Silas raised his voice, pushing a little power into his words. “Who are you? Why are you here?”

The spirit didn’t answer him, just whirled another faster circuit of the clearing.

Pip muttered, “I hear a person, but it doesn’t smell of anything.”

“Ghosts don’t,” Grim said. “You should know that by now.”

“What do you need from us?” Silas asked. “What do you want?” He thought about trying to power-snare the ’geist but it seemed so wispy and insubstantial that he might not be able to get a solid grip. I need more information first. He pushed more power into his voice. “Tell us who you are.”

The ghost flickered, disappearing behind a tree, then reappearing. Silas made out a thread of sound. Mary!

“Are you Mary?”

Where’s Mary? Where, where-where?

“Are you looking for her?” Ghosts were all about unfinished business. “Who’s Mary?”

Where, where? The ghost flitted off farther between the trees.

Silas thinned his shields more, opening up brighter, coaxing, “I have power. If you had power, you could find Mary.”

The specter came closer again, lifting higher off the ground and more amorphous, clearly not invested in any human appearance.

“Come on. Power is what you need.” He called a ball of green light to his palm, holding the lure out. “I’ll help you find Mary.”

Liar! No one helps! A sudden whirl of snow and pinecones rose from under a tree and flew at them in a cloud.

Pip barked and the debris cloud thinned and dropped, but a cone struck Silas’s cheek and bits of crusted snow stung him.

The ghost shouted, Go. Go, go, go, go! More and more snow and slivers of ice rose and began pelting him.

Pip’s rapidfire barking reduced the spray. Then Darien’s golden shields with a fire rune layered against them came up in a blazing wall between Silas and the snow. The ice and debris hit and hissed and dropped at the foot of that barrier. When the air cleared, the ghost had disappeared. No crying disturbed the still woods.

Silas tossed out a probe. There. Moving away from them at a fast pace. “Damn.”

Darien eased down his shields and turned in a slow circle. “Is it gone?”

“For now. Retreating.”

Grim stretched. “The only clear word I made out was ‘Mary.’”

“Yes,” Silas agreed. “‘Where’s Mary?’ and ‘No one helps.’”

Darien asked, “Man, woman? Could you tell?”

“No idea. That wispy appearance suggests age, usually a spirit severed from the body for so long that memory of the original shape is becoming lost.”

“But if it’s old, why didn’t people notice anything in all that time? The crying, at least?”

“That’s a good question.”

“Do you have a good answer?” Darien flashed a quick smile.

“Nope. Some research is in order.”

“How often does that happen?” Darien began dusting Silas’s front with his mittens, brushing off the clumps of snow. “That a ghost doesn’t want to come to you?”

“Very rarely. Usually simple ghosts want the warmth, and the ones with more agency, like this poltergeist, want the power. Part of their anger is usually powerlessness, helplessness, and they’re searching for something more. I’ve had a couple, over the last decade, who were so obsessed with their anger or pain they were harder to lure.”

“What did you do?”

“I tried to figure out who they were. Knowing their names helps reel them in—” He caught Darien’s hand, which had started brushing a bit too low and intimately, and mock-glared at him.

“What?” Darien made wide, innocent eyes.

“I think I’m clean enough.” He bent and scooped Grim up, a bit surprised when the cat let himself be arranged around his neck without protest. “Our next step is research.”

Darien grinned. “My favorite.”

“Collect your pup. Let’s head back.” As Darien secured Pip back under his jacket, Silas smudged out the sprinkled runes of his circle, hiding the colored chalk in a scatter of snow and footprints.

They turned back to the lane, Darien using the flashlight to show the way. Night had fallen and a hundred stars were emerging in the eastern sky. To the west, a remnant of rose and crimson glowed behind the trees. The new snow squeaked under their boots, and from somewhere an owl hooted, soft and low. Side by side, they made their way toward where the tiny points of colored light on the tree lot beckoned.

Silas realized that despite the chill, despite the failure, he couldn’t imagine being happier than this. A soft, still night, Darien at his side, Grim warm on his shoulders, Pip for once quiet, cuddled under Darien’s chin. They had a puzzle to figure out that wasn’t life and death. He’d replenished some of his power last week, and the hollows in Darien’s cheeks were filling in. Life is good. He almost wished they could just walk like this forever.

“I’m freezing my feet off,” Darien murmured at his side. “Can’t wait to warm them on yours in bed.” He snorted a low laugh, and Grim coughed by Silas’s ear.

Well, maybe not forever. “I’ll buy you warmer socks,” he suggested. And gladly take you to bed.

“Spoilsport.”

“Hardly.” He pulled his mind back to the problem at hand as they reached the parking lot and Grim leaped down from his neck, melting away into the dark. Mr. Stevenson came out of the hut.

“Got that sorted out, then?”

“Not quite yet,” he admitted. “You have something lurking up there, but we’ll need another visit to finish the job. I’d recommend keeping customers away from seventeen one more day.”

Stevenson grunted. “Time’s short. You’re gonna take care of the problem, right? I’m not paying you extra—”

Silas waved a hand. “The price is for the result. No extra charges for a second trip.”

“Well, all right then.” Stevenson frowned. “You’re sure this haunting isn’t just their imaginations?”

“We heard sounds that would spook an ordinary customer. We’ll be back tomorrow to finish up.” I hope. “Have you owned this tree farm long?”

“Ten years, near enough. Before that, the business belonged to my uncle, and my grandfather before him.”

“Are either of them around to talk to?”

“Nope. Passed, both of them, years back. Why?”

“A ghost usually hangs around somewhere they lived, or died. Do you remember any stories of someone dying back there? Anyone named Mary that you recall?”

“Can’t say as I do.” Stevenson scratched his beard and appeared to ponder. “I didn’t have much interest as a kid. Was gonna see the world. I only took over when no other family wanted it. Well, and when the Army let me go.” He raised his other arm which ended in a hook-like prosthetic.

Silas had only platitudes to offer so he said, “Is there anyone who worked here years back, who might remember more?”

“Maybe my uncle Bert. He’s a lawyer, but when he was a boy, he helped with the family business. He doesn’t want anything to do with farming now, of course. Not interested in honest work.” He grinned mockingly. “Too good for it. You know ’bout lawyers.”

“How would we find your uncle?”

“Bert Stevenson. His office is in Fordham. He’d be in the book.”

“Thank you.” Silas held out a hand. “We’ll be back. If you think of a death, or a Mary, the Guild has our number.”

Stevenson held out his good left hand flipped over and offered a crushing grip. “I hope so. Business is trailing off for me. Gotta make the most of these last days.” He nodded to Darien. “I hope your pup had a good run, at least.”

“He had an interesting time,” Darien said. “Thanks.”

As they made their way to the car, Silas tried to keep his mind on the case, but he couldn’t help noticing the way Darien’s warm breath left his lips and the shift of his hips under the loose jacket. Not much chance to do research at this hour…

Darien tilted his head Silas’s way. “The phone line’s fixed but the library will be closed, law offices too. I’m thinking our investigation might have to wait till morning?”

“That was my thought as well.” He didn’t say anything more, but their eyes met, there in the dim lot, and he wondered if the flash of heat between them was visible to ordinary eyes.

Grim rejoined them at the car, murmuring, “Any information?”

“A possible source,” Silas said softly.

“Good. While you track that down, Junior and I will work on that godawful mess of a Fetch effort.”

“I got some bits,” Pip protested, as Darien lifted him into the car. “Lots of them.”

“You did fine,” Darien said. “We can survive a few pinecones and snow.”

“We got lucky.” Grim leaped in after Pip. “We’ll have to figure out what the pup can do with a bunch of small objects, not just one big one.”

“I will,” Pip said. “I’ll work hard. It’ll be fun.”

Grim settled on the back seat. “Well, I will say, he’s not work-shy. Take us home, O horny one, and don’t forget to lock the bedroom door.”

Silas tried to ignore the heat in his cheeks, and the plaintive question of “What’s horny? Silas doesn’t have horns,” from Pip, as he pulled out of the lot, heading home to his big bed with Darien.

Chapter 4

Darien tipped his head closer to Silas’s so he could listen in on the kitchen phone, as Silas called the law office next morning. Silas rolled his eyes at him, but didn’t pull away.

“That’s right,” Silas said. “I have an important question that will only take a moment of his time.”

“Mr. Stevenson is a very busy man.” The secretary on the other end sniffed, as if to show how little she thought of someone interrupting her boss. “His time is valuable. He does charge for telephone consulting.”

“If his response takes more than a few minutes, I would be happy to pay his fee.” The frost in Silas’s voice could have withered an entire cornfield.

“I’ll put you on hold and see if he has a moment. Who shall I say is calling?”

Darien could see Silas’s jaw clench as he repeated, “Silas Thornwood.”

“Hold, please.” The line went dead.

Silas muttered, “If the man is like his secretary, we may not get much help from him.”

“Let me.” Darien put his hand over Silas’s and tipped the receiver to his own ear.

“What?” Silas frowned at him.

“I bet I schmooze better than you do.”

Silas’s frown deepened. “I can be conciliatory.”

Darien waved him to silence as the secretary came back on to say, “Please hold for Mr. Stevenson.”

After a moment, a man’s voice said, “What can I do for you, Mr. Thornwood?”

Darien put eagerness into his tone. “Mr. Stevenson. So good of you to spare us a moment of your valuable time. I’m Mr. Green, Mr. Thornwood’s research assistant. My employer is compiling a very important history of the local area, with a particular interest in some events you might shed light on. Everyone says you have a sharp memory for facts others might forget.”

“Perhaps.” Stevenson sounded reserved, but not displeased. “What do you want to know?”

“There was a death or tragedy of some kind, associated with your father’s Christmas tree farm, perhaps years ago. Everyone else says, ‘Oh yes, there was something, but I don’t remember much.’ My employer’s hoping you might be the one person who does recall the details.”

“A death?”

“Yes. Perhaps a person named Mary?”

“Mary does not ring any bells.”

“Perhaps someone who was with a Mary? Or the name might be wrong.” Silas drew breath, probably to deny that, and Darien elbowed him in the ribs. “Some other loss?”

“I don’t—” Stevenson paused. “Tragedy. Yes. But that was well before my time.”

“Oh, you do have an idea, how very helpful. I’m eager to hear anything you might recall.”

“Well, as I said, the event supposedly took place before I was born. I remember some story of a small child who got lost in the plantation woods one December evening. Wasn’t found until morning, and by then she was frozen stiff. I know my father had a strict rule about families, keeping track of who went into the woods and making sure everyone came back out accounted for.”

“That’s extremely useful. Do you have any idea when that would have been?”

“I was born in 1913 and my father bought the property in 1902 so sometime between those dates.”

“That narrows the timing down a lot. Excellent. Do you happen to remember any other details?”

“No.” Stevenson’s tone grew sharper. “I believe as a child I asked my mother why Father was so particular about who came and went, and she mentioned the tragedy. This all took place long ago.”

“Is your mother still with us? I’d love to get a woman’s perspective on this. The older generation have so much to contribute to historical research.”

“She passed years ago. My father too. You’ll have to find another source.”

“My condolences on your losses.”

“Right. Is that all?”

Darien wrinkled his nose at Silas but said warmly, “That’s wonderful. So helpful. Thank you.”

“Three minutes. I suppose there’s no need to bill for that. If you have a future need for legal advice in the realm of financial contracts, I assume you will look me up again.”

“Yes, of course. Yours will be the first name that springs to mind.”

“Hmph. Yes.” Stevenson hung up.

Silas stepped away and passed Darien his coffee cup. “You might need to wash the oleaginous residue from your mouth after that.”

Darien took a sip and grinned. “I was pretty good at the sucking up, wasn’t I?”

“I was both impressed and appalled.”

“But hey, a lead. A child who wandered off and died.”

“Yes.” Silas rubbed his chin. “It’s not likely the dead child was named Mary, since the ghost wouldn’t search for itself. Perhaps a sister or cousin, who failed to rescue them?”

“Sure.” Darien drained his mug. “What’s next? Newspaper archives again?”

“Maybe. But records from that far back are likely to be spotty.”

Grim said from where he lay on the tiles basking in the sun, “Might ask Mrs. Vaughn. She’d have been in her twenties or thirties then.”

“Good idea,” Silas agreed.

“Who’s Mrs. Vaughn?”

“A friend.”

“Really?” He’d only been with Silas a few weeks, but he’d begun to wonder if the man had any social life, outside the council and his familiar. He couldn’t help being curious.

Luckily, Silas only smiled at his surprise. “I do have friends. She’s a sorcerer. Mostly retired now, but she loves gossip and knows what’s going on all around the county.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Darien set his mug in the sink. “Do we drive or walk? Or will you call her?”

“I’ll have to go in person. She hates the telephone. But…”

“But?”

“If you come along, she’s going to give you the third degree. Be warned.”

“I think I can handle an old lady. Will the familiars come?”

“I will.” Grim got up and stretched. “Her familiar is an old friend.”

“Me too?” Pip came out from under the table, abandoning the marrow bone Silas had given him, and danced his paws on the tiles. “I was good. I was ever so quiet.”

“So you were,” Darien said. “You come too.” He glared at Silas. As if we’d take Grim and leave Pip.

Silas held up his hands. “On your head be it.”

Grim huffed a breath that sounded like a laugh. “Then we’d better drive, or we’ll look like a parade.”

The drive to Mrs. Vaughn’s took a mere seven minutes. She lived in a neat little cottage, set back from the road. Her long front walk had been meticulously shoveled, and colored holiday lights and tinsel garlands brightened the porch railing and eaves. Silas rang the doorbell, producing a distant four-note chime.

The door swung open to reveal a tiny woman, her face deeply wrinkled, her hair a cloud of white curls. “Why, Silas Thornwood, as I live and breathe. You remembered where I live.” Her dark eyes twinkled above a wry smile.

Grim said, “You haven’t moved in fifty years, Mistress. That feat of memory wasn’t a challenge, even for him.”

“Grim, I have missed you. Troy has too. Do come on in, all of you.” She swung the door wide.

They stepped into a neat front hallway. Darien copied Silas in taking off his boots and leaving them in the tray. When Silas hung his coat on a wooden rack, Darien took off his own.

“I just made a big batch of cookies,” Mrs. Vaughn said. “How fortunate, almost clairvoyant.” She laughed merrily. “Come have some.”

Darien raised his eyebrows at Silas behind her back. Is she?

Silas’s head tilt was either I don’t know or I can’t talk here. Darien trailed behind him into a cozy parlor.

On a perch by the window, a big blue-and-gold parrot spread long-feathered wings as it turned to face them. “Well, well, visitors. To what do we owe this… honor?” The pause came with a sarcastic twist.

Grim said, “Troy. You’ve not yet succumbed to boredom, I see?”

“Some of us belong to the leisure class.” The parrot took off, swooping to land on the back of the nearest chair. “Oh look, you brought me a stuffed toy.” It opened its dark, curved beak and wiggled a black tongue at Pip.

Pip’s tailwag became tentative. “Hi. I’m Pip. I’m new.”

“So you are.” The parrot looked him up and down. “All shiny and wet behind the ears.”

“I haven’t met many familiars yet,” Pip said. “Do you like being a bird?”

“A blue-and-gold macaw, I’ll have you know.” The parrot preened a feather. “This is an excellent form. Flying is glorious, compared to you four-foots. And humans aren’t shocked if I speak. That can be useful.”

Pip nodded briskly. “Not talking is hard.”

Grim said, “It’s about time you got to know another of your fellows, puppy. Come along. We can talk in Troy’s room.”

“You have a room?” Pip followed the other two familiars out. His voice echoed down the hallway. “I don’t have a room. But I have a castle full of mice and magic rats. The beds are soft…”

Mrs. Vaughn laughed. “I bet that pup is shaking up your household, Silas. And this must be Darien Green.” She turned to Darien, peering up into his face. “Oh yes, I can see where the interest comes from. All that power shining in him.”

“Interest from whom?” Silas moved a step closer, frowning.

“Everyone, dear boy. Silas the loner took in a young sorcerer with power to burn and together they defeated two demons in a weekend. You can’t imagine that story doesn’t arouse some interest?”

Silas rubbed his chin. “I’m not a loner.”

She chuckled. “Pull the other one. Although Darien doesn’t look as young as they say?”

“He came to it late and had… changes,” Silas said. “Through no fault of his own.”

Darien stepped in before Silas could start blaming himself. Mrs. Vaughn might be Silas’s friend, but he didn’t want to share their secrets. “We’re here to see if you can help us with a ghost problem.”

“Ah. Well, I’m not surprised this isn’t a social call. When was your last social visit, Silas-the-not-loner? 1953, was it?”

A little color rose on Silas’s neck. “I visited on the summer solstice.”

“By invitation, yes.” She smiled and patted his arm. “Don’t sprain something making excuses. Come, sit, have some cookies, and tell me what you need.”

They settled on each end of a sofa covered in a plush fabric. Mrs. Vaughn stepped out to the kitchen, returning in a moment with a plate of iced sugar-cookie snowmen. “There. Now we can bite heads off and plan the insurrection.”

Darien blinked. “Excuse me?”

She sat in the chair across from them, bit a cookie in half with a snap of surprisingly white teeth, and said, “Just a joke, my boy. What’s the problem at hand?”

Silas said, “We’re trying to lay a poltergeist on Stevenson’s Christmas tree farm, and the ghost might tie in to a death fifty years back. A missing child?”

“The tree farm… Oh! The Gleason boy. Surely that’s too long ago to be creating a ’geist now, though?”

“You’d think so. But the ghost seems very old, almost amorphous. I don’t know why it’s manifesting now and not in the last fifty years.” Silas leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “A boy went missing? Someone else told us a girl.”

“Both of them.” Mrs. Vaughn sighed and set the remnant of her cookie back on her saucer. “Joshua Gleason was just a young teenager, when his mother sent him to bring home a tree from the Stevenson farm. His little sister Mary begged to go with him, and her mother agreed.”

“Mary! The ghost called that name.”

“Poor boy. They figured the child wandered off while he was sawing down the tree. He must have gone in search of her, and they both got lost. The mother had nine children in that house and the youngest down with the croup. She didn’t notice the pair hadn’t come home until supper, and by the time she found someone to stay with her brood and roused the neighbors to come help, darkness had fallen.”

“The children died?” Silas asked softly.

“The boy, Joshua. They brought out searchers and lanterns, to no avail, and that night was bitterly cold. They found the boy in the morning, curled around his sister, and he’d given her his hat and mittens over her own. He was barely alive, and passed that day. The girl lost a few toes to frostbite, or maybe fingers, I don’t recall. But she lived. I remember the mother was distraught; the ground was too frozen to bury the boy and he had to rest above ground until spring.”

Darien said, “That shouldn’t matter to the ghost, should it? That the body wasn’t buried?”

“They’re not vampires,” Mrs. Vaughn said. “It’s about the death, not the body.”

“Are there vampires?” His curiosity rose up in a jumble of questions. “Where? If they’re not buried—?”

“No vampires,” Silas said firmly.

“That we know of.” Mrs. Vaughn folded her hands in her lap and smiled.

“In any case,” Silas added, “that sounds very promising. The ghost is almost certainly the boy, Joshua. Although I suppose there’s a slim possibility the mother suffered the guilt of finding her children too late, and at the end of her life, felt haunted enough to manifest there.”

“Wouldn’t the ghost be calling for Joshua then, not Mary?” Darien asked.

Mrs. Vaughn nodded. “He’s a sharp one, Silas. I’d bet you’re looking at Joshua’s spirit.”

“Why would he appear now?” Darien turned to Silas. “Can ghosts hibernate? Do they travel? If he actually died somewhere much more remote in those woods, could the ghost have spent fifty years drifting toward the well-travelled part of the farm?”

“Maybe.”

Mrs. Vaughn said, “This is ringing another bell.” She pushed up from her chair and went to a magazine rack stuffed with newspapers. “I believe I recall…” She pulled out one after another, flipping through them. “Yes, here. Four weeks ago.” She read, “‘We mourn the passing of our dear mother, grandmother, aunt, and friend, Mrs. Mary Browning, nee Gleason.’ Cause of death is given as a long illness.”

“Perhaps the ghost is her after all?” Darien suggested.

Silas said, “Or something about her death triggered the poltergeist. I’ve never seen that happen, but we shouldn’t discount the possibility.”

“What do we do?” Darien asked. “Go back and tell the ghost she’s dead? Will it listen?”

“Maybe. If we’re correct about its true name, I can do a better job of constructing my runes to catch it.”

Darien said, “Does that list where she’s buried? If she was.”

Mrs. Vaughn read down the obituary. “Graveyard of St. Timothy’s. It mentions an interment, so she beat the hard frost.”

“If we had a Polaroid camera, we could take a picture of the grave.” One of his classmates had bought one, and the opportunity to take pictures no developer would ever see had been… interesting.

“I’m not sure a ghost would recognize the content of a photo,” Silas said. “May I have that obituary, though?”

“Of course.” Mrs. Vaughn took a pair of scissors out of a knitting basket and carefully cut out the article. She held laid the paper in her lap. “You’ve always said darkness is better for ghost work?”

“Yes.” Silas sounded cautious.

“Good. Then you’ll have time for a cup of tea and a nice chat first.”

“Um.”

“You can catch me up on all the exciting things I hear you’ve done. A demon in the council chambers. That must have been quite a party. I’m hurt that you didn’t come and tell me all the details in person.”

“I was busy afterward—” Silas pressed his lips together.

Darien wondered if Mrs. Vaughn spotted the telltale color on the tips of his ears, remembering what they’d been busy with. But she just said, “I’ll fetch the tea, and then you can tell me everything, dear.”

Not everything. Darien sat back in the cushions, picked up a cookie for each hand, and resolved to zip his lips and watch Silas navigate through the minefield of this personal conversation.

Chapter 5

Silas parked in the same spot as last time in the tree farm lot. Mr. Stevenson poked his head up over the roof of a car where he was tying down a burlapped tree and nodded to them. Silas gave him a little wave— good, don’t pay any attention to us— and led the way back to section 17. The path they’d trodden through the gap in the fence didn’t seem any further disturbed.

The air had warmed slightly during the day, but now the rapidly-dropping temperature had created hidden icy spots. Grim, trotting ahead, slipped with one back leg and only caught himself with an awkward twist. The twitch of his tail-tip as he marched on showed his annoyance.

A moment later, Pip skidded on a similar patch and wound up on his butt, ears flapping. “Oops! It’s sli-ippery!” The pup cast a quick look at Grim, then struggled to his feet.

Was that Pip actually being tactful? Silas peered at the little dog trotting along behind the cat. Surely not. Though sometimes he forgot that Pip wasn’t just the bouncy little rat terrier, but a different being, one who— from Grim’s scant hints— had been halfway through a rigorous course of study before being pulled into the world prematurely to become Darien’s familiar. I shouldn’t underestimate him.

Silas paid for his distraction by finding a patch of ice with his own boot. Darien’s fast grab on his elbow kept him from copying Pip, doubtless with even less grace. “Thank you.”

When their old trail became rough, Grim jumped to the top of the snow where a freezing crust supported him. Pip followed, scrabbling for purchase, and yipped. “Fun!”

“Head in the game, pup,” Grim scolded.

“I’m listening.” Pip’s bat ears pricked up and he sniffed the air.

They made their way without mishap to the little clearing of his original circle. Darien turned on the flashlight, skimming the beam across the ground. “A bit icy.”

“We’ll have to be careful. Mind your step everyone.” Silas wlaked forward with care and set his satchel down. This time, the rune circle he created included Joshua Gleason’s name. That should hold him better. He set the bag of powdered chalk close at hand and called, “Joshua. Joshua Gleason. It’s time to go to your sister Mary.” He sent a questing thread of power out. There. The faint ping slowly came nearer.

“Time to go, Joshua.” He kept murmuring the boy’s name, backing his words with the flavor of his power, his shields thin and holding. He sensed the ghost gradually drifting closer.

Darien murmured, “There.” Off to their left, a curl of mist between the trees became denser and more purposeful than any trick of the weather.

“Come along,” Silas coaxed. “Your work is done, Joshua. You were her savior in life and death, but she’s moved on and you should too.” Poor kid.

They’d spoken with one of Mary’s grandchildren. She’d confirmed the story, adding that Joshua had been just fifteen at the time, and that Mary, her grandma, had called him her guardian angel throughout her life. Whether that had been sentiment, or his ghost lingering around her, Silas had no way of telling. There was no trace of a ghost around the old lady’s home now.

“Mary had a good long life, Joshua. You saved her.”

The mist drifted closer. She’s lost. I have to find her.

“You found her,” Silas told the ghost. “You saved her. Your work is done now.”

Mary! the ghost screamed, and Silas saw Darien flinch. Grim edged back toward the nearest tree and disappeared out of sight.

“She lived. She did well, thanks to you. Darien?” Silas gestured, and Darien walked a few feet toward the ghost, crunching through the ice-topped snow, and laid the newspaper clipping on the crust. “That’s her obituary, Joshua. She had children and grandchildren.”

Darien retreated toward Silas, taking small, careful backward steps, his eyes on the ghost. A light curl of breeze lifted the edge of the paper, then floated it into the air. The clipping dipped and swirled halfway to the ghost, then dropped to the snow. I have to find Mary!

Silas held back a sigh. Hoping that the ghost retained enough agency after fifty years to read a newspaper had been a long shot. He eyed the floating form, estimating the distance he’d need to throw a power loop. Good bet he’d only get one chance at a snare. He didn’t want to spook the boy.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a key on an old tarnished ring. “Do you recognize this? Mary told her children and grandchildren this was your old house key. Do you remember?” He’d ended up having to steal the talisman from Mary’s granddaughter, but he planned to return it. The opportunity to have Pip Fetch the key out of the open desk drawer while Darien distracted the woman had been too good to pass up. Tokens of a past life could be a valuable tool for attracting poltergeists. He jiggled the ring in the dim moonlight. Darien turned the flashlight on the swaying key.

Mine? The ghost drifted nearer. Key? Where’s Mary?

“She kept this to remember you by.” Silas readied his snare. “But she’s gone now. Time for you to join her.”

Mary? The ghost began to turn away. Suddenly the yowl of a hunting cat rose behind the trees, eerie in the still dusk. The ghost froze, listening.

“You wanted to keep Mary safe, didn’t you?” Silas said. He tilted the key. “Safe home. That’s where you’d have taken her. Behind a good locked door.”

Grim’s snarling howl could’ve come from a much bigger creature. The ghost drifted in a circle between Silas and the hidden cat.

My key! The poltergeist suddenly rushed at Silas, kicking up a spray of snow and ice chips and pinecones. The stinging debris played havoc with Silas’s perceptions, until Pip’s rapidfire barking thinned the onslaught. Silas made out the tattered mist of the ghost coalescing as it charged him.

He gathered power and cast his loop. The snare snagged something of Joshua; he felt the weight and intensity of the ghost in the coils of his spell. Quickly, he threw more loops around that weight, fumbling behind him for the bag of chalk as he reeled the ghost in toward his circle. Suddenly his foot skidded on a slick spot and he tumbled backward. He hit the ground with a jolt that echoed through him, and his focus slipped. The poltergeist began sliding through the loops of his spell.

Darien slapped a warm hand on Silas’s neck above his collar, and the golden light of Darien’s power dove into Silas’s runes. The coils of his trap glowed bright, gold and green sliding together into a net around the poltergeist, refining to a dense mesh, then solidifying into a wall without gaps. The ghost flung itself against the wall over and over, but the strength of his magic and Darien’s made holding that containment easy.

No! the ghost screamed. Mine! Mary! No! Its shape tattered further the frantic whirl of rising fury, but no new snow or debris took flight. Silas pulled in a deep breath and glanced up at Darien who stood behind him, a hand still braced on Silas’s neck.

“Thanks. But— what did you do?” This ghost containment was more like a vessel than a coil, his runes pulled out of shape as if that golden power had melted them.

“I just pushed power into your runes. Like I did with Jasper’s beam on the River bank.”

“Not quite like.” They were definitely going to have to explore what just happened, but not at this precise moment. “Can you keep the power there?” He wasn’t sure what would happen if Darien let go.

“Sure. Your runes aren’t taking much.”

Not much for you. He had more than one reason to be grateful for Darien’s strength. Silas stood carefully, so as not to dislodge Darien’s hand from his skin. Inside the containment, the poltergeist raged and sobbed.

“Now what?” Darien asked. “Do we take this ghost to the River together?”

“I suppose we’ll have to.” He glanced down, grimacing at the smudges where he’d landed on his chalk. “Or perhaps, when I have my circle recreated, you ease back your power and I can get a better grip.”

“He sounds so sad.” Darien raised his voice. “Ghost? Joshua. Silas was telling you the truth. Mary’s passed on. We’ll take you to her.”

Silas could tell the ghost had heard him. Its sobs quieted. Truly?

“I swear,” Darien said. “On my honor.”

She’s dead? You’ll take me to her grave? The ghost sounded more coherent than ever. Perhaps being surrounded by Darien’s golden light did that.

But— “Not her grave,” Silas said. “We’ll guide you on, to where her soul is now.”

She’s dead? She’s not dead. Is she? I want to see her grave.

“That’s not possible.”

He promised. The ghost’s swirling became more agitated again. He swore. Honor. Mary! I want to see her. Please!

Darien grimaced. “Yeah, I did, but…” He hesitated, glancing at Silas. “Could we? We have him contained, for now. Could we bring him to the graveyard before the River?”

“What?” Silas tried to rein in his sarcasm. “Just load him up in the car and drive him there?”

“Well, why not?” Darien said. “It’s not like he takes much space.” Silas felt the push of Darien’s power through the runes and the containment shrank down to something no bigger than a man. “He’d fit. I did swear to him.”

“You didn’t mean your promise that way.” But between the agitated ghost and the question in Darien’s shadowed eyes, the insane began to seem possible.

Grim stalked toward them over the snow and jumped down into the little clearing. “Breaking oaths is a bad idea.”

“Even though it wasn’t the promise he meant?”

The ghost swirled in the containment. Mary. Mary. See her grave. Dead? Not dead. A face began forming— a teen boy, brows heavy, nose a bit big for his face, jaw determined. Will you take me? I need to know. Please? A tear glistened in one translucent eye, then ran down his cheek.

Pip jumped down off the snow too. “He’s sad. Can you help him?”

Silas closed his eyes, feeling his way through the runes holding the ghost, his layout familiar and yet with unique changes encompassing shape and strength. How the hell does he do that? The walls seemed to be holding fine though. He blinked and turned his attention to Darien. “You really want to try this?”

Darien broke into a grin. “Yeah. It’ll be cool, right? An experiment. He’s not very dangerous, if we lose our grip. I mean, a few pinecones never killed anyone.”

“You recall the falling tree?”

“Well, compared to a demon.”

Silas sighed. “All right. But we can’t let Stevenson see what we’re doing.”

“Pip and I will distract him,” Grim said.

Silas looked down at him. “Aren’t you going to tell me what a foolish idea this is?”

Grim tossed his furry head. “The boy’s right. You’re already doing an experiment. Why not test your limits?”

Why not indeed… we may be about to find out. But he couldn’t deny there was a certain thrill in doing something new, something Harrowsmith had never taught him, perhaps something his mentor could never even have envisioned. “All right. We’ll walk carefully back toward the car. You, Joshua, if you want to see Mary you have to hold still and not jolt us.”

The ghostly head nodded, an odd effect with no real body below the neck. Hold still. Go see Mary.

“That’s right,” Darien agreed warmly. “We’ll take you.”

“You hear him fine?” Silas asked. The previous poltergeists they’d encountered had been harder for Darien to make out.

“Yup. Could be having my power around him. Shall we start walking?”

“Slowly. Let’s try.”

Grim said, “I’ll pick up the chalk so you don’t land on your butt again, O graceful one.” The cat bent and patted at the strings of the bag.

“What do I do?” Pip asked, dancing around them. “I want to help.”

“How good is your Fetch?” Grim asked. “You think you could topple over a tree or two?”

“In the forest?” Pip eyed the dark shapes around them. “That’s hard.”

“No, birdbrain,” Grim lifted the bag and muttered around the cords. “One o’ the leanin’ ones on the lot.”

“Oh. I could probably do those. They’re cut. But I don’t have a bird brain. Troy does.”

“I wou’n’t advise sayin’ so to him.”

“You told Troy I wasn’t as stupid as I look.” Pip’s big ears twitched as if he was still trying to parse that comment.

Grim grumbled softly. “I might cha’ge my mind. Come on, le’s see what you can do.” He trotted off ahead, and after a glance at Darien, Pip followed him.

Darien murmured, “I’m still not sure how Grim feels about Pip.”

“Pip is good for him,” Silas said. “Gets him out of a rut.” Much the way you’ve done for me. “Okay, let’s get this show on the road.”

Darien’s hand stayed steady, warm against the skin of Silas’s neck, as they walked down the path. They pushed the bubble with the ghost ahead of them, not that different from dragging a poltergeist toward the river. He could walk— carefully— and keep the rune structure balanced, and move the containment along. Darien’s flow of power buoyed him up like a summer breeze in the dark night.

As they neared the parking lot, Grim appeared ahead of them. “We’re set,” he said. “Junior will create a disturbance on the other side of the owner’s hut. When you hear the noise, you two get your ghost in the car. And by all that’s holy, figure out how you’re going to drive without losing control before you do that. Stop down by the road and Pip and I will join you there.” He turned and trotted off.

Darien laughed, a high-pitched sound. “How are we going to drive?”

“Carefully?” Silas gave the matter some thought. “Are you having to focus on the runes, or just feed them power?”

“Just power, right now. Through you.” Silas couldn’t see if Darien was smiling, but his voice sounded fond as he rubbed Silas’s neck. “I kinda like this.”

I do too. He said, “You should drive. I’m keeping the runes balanced. Get in from the passenger side, slide on over, and I’ll follow you in. Open the back door first, and we’ll get the ghost in there.”

“Good plan. Should we go closer?”

“Yes. Head on slowly.”

They were at the edge of the lot when the racket started. A clatter echoed, followed by a thud and Stevenson’s raised voice. “Damn it!”

“Our signal,” Silas whispered.

It took a little maneuvering to get all three of them in the car and the doors shut, but they managed the job before the noises from the other side of the hut died down. Darien dug the keys out of Silas’s pocket one-handed, started the car, and paused. “Gear shift.”

“Here, I’ll try putting my hand on you.” There was no hardship in laying his palm on Darien’s skin above his collar. Silas felt the power flow realign to their new contact point, then Darien moved his hand from Silas to the shift lever. Silas’s foolish neck abruptly felt chilled at the loss. He reminded himself to focus. “Go ahead. We still have him.”

In the back seat, the ghost containment lay across the seat like a duffle bag. Or a coffin. Joshua’s face looked serene for once, eyes closed, although his lips moved silently. More of his body had formed, shaping into a thin teen in a heavy jacket and boots, though bits still sometimes swirled into streamers, then rejoined the whole. Silas kept his head cranked over his shoulder to keep a physical eye as well as a psychic one on the ghost.

At the bottom of the tree farm’s drive, Darien paused the car. Silas managed to fumble his door open one-handed, and Grim trotted toward them with Pip behind him. They both jumped into the car, Grim on his lap, Pip into the footwell. Grim rose on his haunches to peer into the back. “Well, that’s not something you see every day.”

“I should hope not.” Silas began to feel the drain, a little headache forming at the base of his skull. “Let’s go.”

The trip to St. Timothy’s Church took about fifteen minutes on mostly empty roads. Darien drove carefully, while Silas stabilized the ghost. Joshua seemed to sleep, although once his eyes opened and he said, Mary?

“We’re taking you to her,” Darien said, eyes on the road.

All right. The ghost’s features hazed and stilled.

They stopped on the side of the road outside the graveyard gates. Like many places, the cemetery closed at dusk, and the gates were already shut.

“If those gates are locked, we have a problem,” Silas pointed out.

Pip jumped up to his lap, jostling Grim, and looked out the window. “Fetch!” One of the iron halves swung open slowly. Pip panted. “Not locked.”

“Far out! Thanks, Pip.” Darien pulled slowly forward into the graveyard.

In the back, the ghost seemed to wake with a jolt. Mary? Is she here?

“We’re finding her grave,” Silas told him. “Have patience. We’re almost there.”

Darien parked at the far end, under an oak tree, where the newest graves were located. They’d come out to check the gravesite for ghosts earlier that day, but finding the right headstone in the dark would be trickier. After extricating themselves and Joshua from the car, they paused while Silas scanned the landmarks. “That way?”

Grim said, “If you want to find something, ask a cat. This way.” He headed off between the rows, and they followed him, the ghost in its shell floating ahead of them and Pip bringing up the rear.

Grim jumped up on a headstone two rows over. “This one.”

Mary? Is that her? The ghost began pushing at the containment walls.

The throb at the back of Silas’s head intensified. “Yes. We’ll get you close to her.”

Grim jumped off the headstone as they maneuvered the containment up against the simple granite. The stone stood crisp and new, the lettering clear. “Mary Browning nee Gleason. March 10 1901 to November 22 1962. Beloved wife, mother, and grandmother.”

The ghost swirled up against the wall of the containment. Gravestone. Mary. She died? She’s dead?

“Yes.” Darien said softly, and Silas felt him swallow against Silas’s touch on his neck. “But you see the dates? November 1962. She lived to be over sixty.”

Lived? I saved her?

“You did. You gave your life to save her.”

Mary. Joshua’s voice held a new tone, a deep contentment. The ghost-mist formed two hands, laying them against the containment over the stone. Long life. She’s resting now.

“Time for you to rest too,” Silas told him. “Time to find her spirit again.”

You know where she is?

“I can bring you to her.” Silas glanced around. He’d forgotten to bring his chalk. Idiot. Distracted by this new power-meld and forgetting your basics. The snow and ice didn’t offer many choices for building a circle.

Grim leaped lightly to the crusted snow and traced a paw through the thin dusting on top. “This makes a line. I know your runes. I write, you power?”

“Go, Grim!” Darien cheered.

Silas had to chuckle. “Yes. Thank you. I don’t need his name in the circle now. Just standard precautions.”

“Don’t teach your grandmother to suck eggs.” Grim began circling.

Pip peered up at him, forehead wrinkled. “What eggs?”

“Never mind.” Darien smiled down at the dog, and held out an arm. “Want to come up?”

“Oh yes. My feet are cold.” Pip bounced into Darien’s arms, while Silas hung onto the containment structure and his touch on Darien’s neck.

Joshua had fully formed now, a young man kneeling at the foot of the carved stone, his hands against the barrier between him and the granite. He didn’t turn around as Grim finished his circle pass at the opening and paused.

“Come, puppy, we need to guard them from outside,” Grim said. “Lure away folks who might come close.”

“Oh. Yes, we’ll keep them safe.” Pip jumped down and landed through the snow crust, burying himself deep. He struggled out, snorting. “Oops. Cold.”

“Get out here, carefully, and be glad you didn’t smudge my lines.”

“Yes, Grim.” Pip shook himself, then gave a guilty glance around where the snow had fallen, and trotted through the gap in the circle. Sitting down, he cocked his head as if listening to the quiet cemetery.

Grim glanced at Silas. “Make it fast, O sentimental ones. I don’t want to end up playing guard to two corpsicles.” He scrawled the locking rune with one furry paw.

Silas pushed his power into the runes, feeling their familiar shape. He and Grim had been doing this job together for years and the construct fit his power perfectly. The faint green haze of his magic rose around them, enclosing the headstone and the kneeling ghost. “Time to go,” he told Joshua. “Darien, you focus on staying close and feeding in the power. I’ll get us to the River.” He pulled up the runes in his mind and opened the Veil.

The dark fog that closed around them didn’t mute the shine of the ghost’s containment. Gold and green swirled around the translucent figure. Joshua got to his feet. His voice came clearly, his mouth moving as he spoke. “Where are we?”

“We’re going to find Mary. So you both can rest.”

“Oh, good. Are we going far?”

“No. The River’s this way. Come on.” The last trip he’d made with a poltergeist had been a struggle against the unwilling. Joshua’s eager cooperation made things much easier. Silas kept his hand on Darien and they moved the containment along, but the ghost seemed to be walking too, his spirit keeping pace with them.

They reached the bank of the River after barely a minute, breaking out of the fog onto the pebbled shore. The shining River dimmed the containment, and Joshua strained toward the water. “I hear Mary. And my mother!” He seemed to hesitate. “Mother will be angry…”

“You put your hat on Mary’s head, your mittens on her hands.” Mary’s granddaughter had repeated that, in the sing-song of an oft-told story. “You sheltered her under your jacket and she lived. Your mother won’t be angry.” Such a promise might be rash, but nothing about the River suggested that anger or hate or fear lived there. “She’s waiting.”

“I have to go—” Joshua shoved at the containment wall.

“Should we take the trap down?” Darien whispered.

Usually, Silas had to carry the ghost to the river and immerse it, but this time seemed different. “Yes. On three. One, two, three.” On three he pictured the runes melting, and lifted his hand from Darien’s neck. The structure disintegrated, sparkles of gold and green flying apart and fading like a dying firework. Silas flinched from the backlash. Joshua laughed delightedly and ran.

Darien slid an arm around Silas, and he leaned into Darien’s body as the slip of a ghost sprinted to the bank of the water and waded in. Three steps to reach his hips, another, still laughing, and then he sank beneath the water without a sound.

Silas felt Darien’s lips brush his neck. “This thing you do is really good.”

“Sometimes.” He turned enough to cup Darien’s chin and take a real kiss. “Time to get back before we’re… what did Grim say? Corpsicles?”

“Yeah, I’d rather not lose any toes. Can we run?”

Silas grabbed Darien’s hand, a tide of unexpected joy rising up in him. “Sure. Why not? Come on.”

The dash through the Veil was like nothing Silas had ever experienced. Despite the throb in his head, he powered the runes so easily that the fog seemed to almost rip apart in front of them. Three leaping strides, with Darien at his side, and their bodies stood ahead of them. He snapped back into reality so hard he almost fell. At his side, Darien shuddered and then laughed.

“All quiet, Grim?” Silas asked.

“Someone came in the open gate, but I sent Pip to lure them away with a lost puppy act.”

Darien glanced around. “Where is he?”

“Should be coming back… there.”

The little blob of Pip’s dark face became visible against the snow down by the cemetery road, then Silas could make out his form, trotting calmly toward them. Darien kicked the circle open and hurried his familiar’s way. “Pip. You’re okay?”

The pup’s voice floated back in the thin air. “They said I’d get a liver treat, but I didn’t let them catch me. Do we have liver treats at home? I want to taste one.”

Silas stamped circulation back into his numb feet and followed. At his side, Grim murmured, “Might have to buy some liver treats. Wouldn’t want to disappoint the kid.”

Silas chuckled. “One would almost think you like him.”

“I wouldn’t go that far.” Grim rose on his hind legs to pat at Silas’s thigh, and he felt just a prickle of clawtips. “Now pick me up and get us home. We’re all going to be thawing out for hours. I hope you have plans for a nice hot dinner for all of us.”

Silas scooped Grim to his shoulders, as the youngsters ahead sprinted to the car. “Vegetable-beef soup in the fridge, ready to heat.”

“Adequate,” Grim said, settling around his neck.

Despite the pain of the power rebound echoing in his head, and the pins-and-needles of his toes, Silas reflected that his life was a whole lot more than just adequate these days.

Chapter 6

Darien gazed out at the sunny street, the afternoon of Christmas Eve, watching… something. Not waiting for the mail, of course. He’d only written to his dad a week ago. Yeah, he’d sent the letter airmail— one more thing I’ll pay Silas back for when our poltergeist-removal check cashes— but unless his father knew a teleporting sorcerer, there was no way Darien would get an answer back yet.

Down by the road, the mail truck chugged up the last of the hill, passed their box, and headed away without stopping.

Of course not.

“You could call him.” Silas’s hand on his shoulder made him jump.

“I’m not—” Except of course he was.

“What did you tell him in your letter?”

“Your address, phone number.”

“Our address.”

“Yeah.” The night after they’d released Joshua’s ghost, as they lay in bed trying to warm the last chills from their entwined feet, Silas had whispered, “You’re here to stay, right? You don’t want to leave?” Darien had asked, “What brought that on?” Silas had closed his eyes and rested his forehead against Darien’s neck. “Joshua felt so lonely…” Darien had stroked the dark, rough hair against his shoulder, aching a little for how deeply Silas felt things and how little he showed those feelings until they were here, alone and safe in the dark. “Not going anywhere,” he’d said. “I promise.”

Silas’s emphasis on Our address was a reminder of the connection they both felt. Not that I mentioned that to Dad in my stupid letter. Darien couldn’t seem to turn away from the window. “I expect he’ll write back eventually.”

Silas murmured, “Did you tell him you’d left school?”

“I told him I’d taken a break.” He still wasn’t sure what the future might hold, although going back to college and his classmates, suddenly looking fifteen years older, might be a problem. “I told him I was busy with some new kinds of studying.” He tried a joke. “I didn’t tell him my favorite subject was a detailed analysis of your dick and what it likes.”

“And yet, I highly endorse that line of investigation.” Silas moved closer, warm against Darien’s shoulder, chin in his hair.

Darien snorted. “Yep. You don’t mind expanding my experiments to your ass, either.”

“Another excellent field of study.” Silas stiffened behind him. “What’s that?”

A truck had chugged up the hill with a big Christmas tree on the load bed. Now, the driver pulled over to the curb at the foot of their property. Silas stepped away from Darien’s shoulder, as the cab door opened.

“That’s Stevenson,” Darien recognized. They hadn’t gone back to the lot, but the Guild reported Stevenson had been satisfied and paid the fee, and even insisted on the bonus. “I wonder what he wants.”

Stevenson tugged his cap down on his head and came up their front path.

“I guess we’ll find out.” Silas strode out toward the door, leaving Darien to follow him.

The doorbell had barely chimed when Silas opened the door. Darien spotted him subtly pushing extra power into the house wards and moved up at his shoulder, raising his own shields. Does he get disgruntled clients? One more thing to ask sometime.

Stevenson was smiling, though. “Hey there, I don’t know what you fellas did but I want to thank you. Not just lot 17, but all my business picked up. Folks are happy, upgrading to bigger trees, adding wreaths. This has been my best week ever.”

“Um. That’s good to hear,” Silas said cautiously.

Darien couldn’t imagine how they’d made that kind of difference, but perhaps the ghost’s aura had extended over the whole lot? He wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. “I’m glad it worked out.”

“So, I thought…” Stevenson gestured to his truck. “Season’s about done, and I had a real nice ten-footer left. Your address was easy to find, and I thought maybe you might like to have it. No charge. As a thank you.”

Silas glanced over his shoulder at Darien, although Darien couldn’t see any downside.

They hadn’t gotten around to much of the holiday decorating Darien had hoped for. There’d been a problem with the water heater, and then several roof leaks revealed by the melting snow that they’d had to set buckets under. Finding repairmen available so close to the holidays had been a challenge.

They had squeezed in a trip to Clarice’s yesterday, to pick up a Christmas cake she’d made for them and exchange holiday greetings and a bottle of brandy with Jasper, but then time got away from them.

Not completely. They’d hung a wreath on the front door and put a beef roast in the fridge for tomorrow’s dinner. Darien had used his ghoul-case bounty to buy a pair of silk pajamas without stupid stripes to give to Silas on Christmas Day. Silas— sweet man that he was, however much he denied it— had stayed up late baking a batch of gingerbread men, while Darien ate the failures. So he’d decided to be content with that degree of holiday spirit.

But a free Christmas tree? Delivered to their door? “That’s very kind of you, Mr. Stevenson,” he said, before Silas could say no.

“We don’t have a stand,” Silas hedged.

“I’ll throw one in. With a string of lights, since I don’t need most of ’em now. Brought those along in case.” Stevenson tilted his head, as if sensing reluctance from Silas. “I can cut the tree down small as you want. Not many folks can fit a ten, so I figured I’d be cutting it to size.”

“I bet we can fit ten feet!” A joyous laugh bubbled in Darien’s chest. “The foyer by the staircase is two stories high.”

“I suppose so.” Silas’s eyes darkened, a smile lifting the corners of his mouth. “Yes, of course, if you like.”

Stevenson said, “If you fellas want to give me a hand, we can bring it on in.”

“Yes, please.” Darien grabbed his boots off the tray.

Silas said, “That’s very thoughtful of you. Give us a moment to get dressed.”

“I’ll go untie your tree from the truck.”

When Stevenson was out of earshot Silas murmured, “A ten-foot tree? Really?”

“Why not, Si? You have the space.”

“We have the space… and I suppose such a display is the epitome of holiday spirit. I did promise you a real Christmas.”

“It’s the evergreen icing on my Christmas cake.” Darien thumped him cheerfully on the shoulder, and tugged on his coat.

They used some lifting and maneuvering, and a few aborted swear words, to get the tree in the door, down the hallway, and upright in the space beside the front stairs. Stevenson tightened the last screw in the holder at the base and peered up. “Fits like a charm. You might want to tie the top to the banister. Just for safety, like. Specially if that big cat of yours tries to climb it.”

From the top of the staircase, Grim yawned innocently.

Stevenson handed Darien a paper grocery sack. “There’s the lights. Although stringing them will be a bit of a trick. Still, Merry Christmas to you both.”

Darien shook his outstretched hand, shields safely pulled down under his skin. “Thanks so much. Merry Christmas to you too.”

“I’ll show you out,” Silas said, leading Stevenson off.

Darien gazed up at the tree. He heard Stevenson laugh and say something about “more stuff on heaven and Earth, I guess,” as Silas showed him out and shut the door.

Silas returned, his steps quieter back in his slippers. “There’s snowmelt and pine needles all over that hallway, and I don’t see how you’ll string the lights.”

“Don’t be a Grinch.”

“A what?”

Darien laughed. “It’s a new kids’ book. One of the guys at school brought back a copy last year. His little sister got three of them. The Grinch is this grumpy character sitting up on a hill souring the Christmas fun for the little folk below.”

Silas frowned. “Am I souring your Christmas?”

Darien wrapped his arms around him. “This is lining up to be my best Christmas in years. Even with your bah, humbug.”

“I have read A Christmas Carol.”

“Of course you have.” Darien had a sudden thought. “Do you think Dickens was a necromancer? I mean, the ghosts of Christmas, right? Or a sorcerer, maybe, tweaking the nose of some necromancer friend by turning him into Ebenezer Scrooge?”

Silas chuckled. “I doubt it. I suppose you could ask the London Guild. They would know if someone that prominent was a member.”

“After the holidays, maybe.” Now that the thought had ambushed him, Darien had to admit he was curious. Later. “Right now, I want to enjoy our holiday. And string lights on the tree.” He hugged Silas and let go. “Do you think if I dangled them from the banister, you could walk around and around the tree with the other end?”

“I think I can dangle them,” Silas said. “While you try to duck under the branches and slip on the needles and wrangle the cord.”

“That works too.” He had no problem doing the fun part. “I’ll clean the floor afterward.”

Silas laid a hand on Darien’s cheek. “We’ll clean the floor. I’d do far more than sweep up pine needles to make you happy.”

The tightness of Darien’s throat needed a snappy reply. “Like buy me a vacuum?”

“I admit, that’s not what I purchased for your gift.”

Darien shoved him. “A good thing, too. Romance is not dead. Go dangle those lights.”

By the time the tree was set up, with a scattering of colored bulbs, some bows of red ribbon on the lower branches, and a frosting of white paper stars Darien had dumped in a cascade from above, their decorating looked— all right, perhaps not amazing, but it did look festive. The house smelled of fresh pine and holiday spirit, not incense and curry or stale dorm room odors. The effect was, in a word, and mostly to mess with Silas, “Fab! Far out!”

“What?” Silas’s lips twitched.

Darien laughed. “To you squares, that means it’s great.”

“And what are you, a circle?”

Darien’s chest felt tight, like his body couldn’t hold everything he was feeling. He wanted to dance and laugh and hug Silas, and for some reason, cry. Instead, he told Silas, “I love this tree. But next year, we’re taking time to buy some ornaments and a star for the top.” Then he held his breath because “next Christmas we will—” was the most specific he’d gotten yet about their future.

Silas didn’t laugh at him, but an odd expression crossed his face. “About that…” He turned and strode off down the hall toward his study.

Darien’s heart fell. What did I say? Silas had been the one to say forever first, so surely he didn’t object to that. Maybe he didn’t like the idea that Darien would be imposing his Christian holidays on the household every year? He didn’t need a tree, if Silas hated it. He blinked hard, the lights fuzzing into refracted colors.

Pip skidded into view from the kitchen and slid to a stop. “I smelled something good! There’s a forest in here! So big.”

Despite everything, Darien had to smile. “Just one tree. But yeah, it’s tall. Where were you?” Grim had supervised the setting up and then vanished, but he hadn’t seen Pip since lunch.

“Grim showed me where the rats live in the other wing. I chased a lot of them.”

“Did you catch any? Don’t let them bite you.” Some of the rodents lurking in the less-used parts of the huge house were as big as Pip.

“I chased them a lot. They were scared. Maybe they’ll move out. Grim said I couldn’t Fetch them. It’s not sporting.”

“Might scare them even more, though.”

“That’s what I said.” Pip glanced over his shoulder to where Grim had strolled into view. “Darien says I can Fetch rats to scare them.”

“Well, if you want to stop sharpening your body’s physical skills.” Grim came to Darien’s feet and turned to run his gaze over the tree. “It’s still standing and partially lit. What does Silas think?”

Darien looked up at the pathetically-decorated tree, but before he could come up with an answer, Silas said from behind him, “I found something. If you want it.”

Darien turned around.

Silas held out his hand, a shimmering glass and pewter star spanning his palm. “Old Vickery had a collection of glass that I put away in a box when I cleared his desk. I remembered this one. The design’s not meant for a tree, but it might serve?”

He brought me a star. Darien blinked hard and reached for the ornament. “That’s pretty.” Although coming out of one of Vickery’s collections… He tried to peer at the star with his power engaged before touching it. “It’s not magical, right?” His Othersight was a work in progress.

“Not as far as I can tell.”

Grim rose on his hind legs to sniff at Silas’s hand. “Just glass. A plaything. Now, I’m willing to pay good money to see you get that bauble up there.”

“Ah.” Silas rubbed the back of his head. “That is a conundrum.”

Darien turned the ornament in his fingers, watching the glittering facets catch the sparks of colored light. He could drop it on the treetop from the landing, like the paper stars, but the littered floor held proof that not everything landed safely. “Do you have a ladder, Si?”

“I don’t know how to Move things yet,” Pip said. “Maybe I could get behind the top of the tree and Fetch? Somehow?”

Grim sniffed. “Some things require a cat.” He snagged Darien’s wrist with a paw and tugged his hand down. The star glittered as Grim took one pewter ray in his mouth. Heading under the tree, the cat put his front paws on the lowest branch near the trunk.

Darien held his breath as Grim flowed up the ladder of branches, each step smooth as water over rocks. When the big cat neared the top, he slowed. The tree began to bend and sway slightly. Carefully craning his neck up to the last spray of small branches, Grim nestled the star in the center, then eased his way back down. At the bottom he leaped to the floor with a solid thump. The tree jiggled, a light from the dusty chandelier refracting off the star, but nothing fell. The star’s crystal heart steadied to a glow.

Grim batted a fallen scrap of paper across the hall. “A climbing tree indoors has its merits. That, gentlemen, is how you get a star to the top.”

“It’s perfect. Thank you,” Darien said. “And Silas—” His voice caught.

“Yes?”

“You’re not just humoring me? I mean, you don’t hate all the Christmasness?”

“Not a bit.” Silas looked up at the star. “You know, I studied with Harrowsmith from the time I was fourteen. Formally apprenticed at fifteen, moved in with him at eighteen. He made it part of my education to disconnect me from my mundane past. The Guild and its purposes and the truths of magic and practice were what mattered. Ordinary humans all lived in an illusion, blind to so much of the world’s truth.” He reached out and touched a green branch. “I’m never going to be a Christian again, but there are a lot of good memories I set aside. So no, I don’t mind a Christmas tree.”

Darien had decided the tone of Silas’s voice meant he needed a hug when, off in the kitchen, the phone rang.

Silas startled. “I should get that.” He hurried to answer it, and Darien trailed along behind.

“Thornwood residence,” Silas said into the receiver as Darien reached the kitchen. Then Silas raised his head sharply and turned to Darien. “Yes. I’ll ask.” He set his hand firmly over the mouthpiece. “Do you want to talk to him? It’s your father.”

“My—” A pang of loss followed by a wave of nausea cramped Darien’s stomach. He grabbed the back of a chair. “I… yes.” Don’t be a wuss, Darien Green. Still, he needed several breaths to unglue his feet from the floor and cross the six feet of tiled floor. Silas handed him the receiver and backed off one step, his face anxious.

“Hello? Dad?” Darien clutched the phone to his ear.

“Darien?” Over the crackling line, he heard his father’s unmistakable voice. “How are you, son?”

“I’m all right.” He pulled in a breath through his nose. “How are you?”

“I’m doing better. Got a job with an English-language newspaper, extended my work visa. I’ll be moving to a better apartment.”

“Good. That’s great.” He realized he had no idea what his father had been doing for three years. He’d clearly had a small apartment, a different job? “Did you get my letter?” He scrunched up his eyes as soon as he said the words because no kidding, Dad had Silas’s phone number, ergo, stupid question.

His dad said, “Arrived yesterday. Made me realize how far we’d fallen out of touch. You left school months ago, and I didn’t even know. If something had happened…”

Losing touch was both our faults. And something did happen. After a moment, silent except for the hiss and sizzle of the line, Darien realized it was his turn. “Yeah, I left school but I’m studying and I have a great new place.” He bit back a nervous giggle and didn’t say, in a damned castle.

“I saw you reconnected with the Thornwood boy. I always thought he’d go far.”

Darien pressed his lips together. Thornwood boy, the necromancer. Slays demons. Probably not what his father expected. Not something he could say, either. “Yes, he’s giving me house-room.”

His father added, “The other reason I called you is, I’ve met someone. Marie Thibault. She’s a widow. It’s, well, early days yet, but she made me see how much I’d disconnected from life. She urged me to get back in touch. I sent a card to your dorm room.”

“It may get returned to sender.” Bitterness colored his tone. “I moved several places, after that.”

“Oh, well, a call is even better, isn’t it?”

“I suppose so.” Quit being a sour bastard, Darien. “Yes. Yes, it is.”

“I can’t talk long. Calling America’s expensive, even at this hour. But I wanted to give you my phone number and new address, and to say merry Christmas.”

Darien groped for the little pad on the counter, and Silas handed him a pencil. He threw Silas a grateful smile. He always has my back. “I have something to write with. Go ahead.”

Once he’d written down the information, he said, “Merry Christmas to you too. And—” He hesitated. Tell him something? Hang up? He’s been absent for so much. An arm’s length away, Silas leaned on the counter, all his attention on Darien, a tiny crease of worry marring his forehead. I have someone who cares, whatever Dad says. He reached out and took hold of a fold of Silas’s sweater, and said, “I’ve met someone too.”

“You have?” His father’s voice sounded genuinely interested. “Who is she?”

Silas met Darien’s eyes, but Darien couldn’t read a hint in there. Tell him? Don’t? “I don’t think I’m ready to share that with you,” he said. “But maybe one day.”

“Oh.” There was a long pause. Darien wondered if Dad was remembering his blurted confession of homosexuality, the one Dad had walked back as nonsense. Or maybe he just felt hurt. I’m not trusting you with Silas yet. “Well, I’m glad for you anyway,” Dad said finally. “I hope you’re happy. Just remember, the key to a good relationship is trust.”

“Yes, Dad.” Silas eased an arm around him, and he leaned hard on that supportive strength. With my life.

“Merry Christmas, son. Give my regards to Thornwood. Write to me.”

“Ditto. Merry Christmas.”

The static of a transatlantic line was replaced with the dial tone. Carefully, he set the receiver back in the cradle.

Silas pulled him closer and said against his hair, “Are you happy? Or sad?”

“Bit of both.” Darien sighed, and some long-held tension left him with the breath. “He’s doing well— that’s some comfort. He wasn’t there for me when I needed him most, but I don’t need him like that anymore. It’s all right if he’s just a voice on the phone, and a letter here and there.”

Silas’s hug tightened. “You can be sad about that, too.”

For a second, tears prickled Darien’s eyes, but he dashed them away. “It’s a start, right? Better than silence.”

“I hope so. I’m still sorry you felt you couldn’t reach out to him, when you were at your lowest.”

“Maybe I could’ve. But I didn’t want to pull him down with me, if he’d found some peace over there.” And I didn’t want to hear him say no. Silence was better than rejection, when I was circling the drain. Perhaps he hadn’t given his father enough credit. Perhaps he would’ve hopped on a plane— No, no second guessing. I survived, and look at me now. He tipped his head back against Silas’s shoulder, and breathed the faint scent of clean skin and aftershave.

“My father died alone,” Silas said. “A heart attack.”

Darien murmured, “So sorry.”

“I’d left home by then to study with Harrowsmith. For years afterward, I wondered, what if I’d stayed in his house, or at least visited more often? If I’d been closer to him, could I have saved him? Sometimes that failure still haunts me, but I try to let go of the what-ifs and stop looking back. I’d done the best I could. You did what you thought was best, too. And perhaps you weren’t wrong. After all, here we are.” Silas laid his cheek on Darien’s hair.

“That’s what I was thinking. I ended up alive, sane— well, mostly— and here with you, and he sounds happy.”

“You’re a good man, Darien Green.”

“And I’m done with gloom.” He turned and pulled Silas down for a long kiss. “Dad said a relationship is about trust. Well, I trust that your potato-leek soup and fresh bread will be edible tonight, and you’ll take me to bed afterward and make me forget all about sadness.”

Silas kissed him back, soft and slow. “I can’t guarantee the soup, but my bread’s reliable, and I promise you the bed.”

“Not a doubt in my mind.” Darien kissed Silas again, losing his thoughts in the soft, warm pleasure of Silas’s mouth.

Chapter 7

Silas pulled the plug on the tree lights, sighing softly as the hallway dropped to near-darkness. He didn’t hate the tree at all. He and his father had spent some of their best moments beside a much smaller one with a string of bulbs that never wanted to stay lit, seeing what Santa had brought him. He’d given up the tradition, but not the memories.

Doing a tree for one person would’ve been an exercise in pathos the past decade, even if he hadn’t set his childhood aside, but with Darien around, tonight was sweet nostalgia. I grew away from you too fast and too far, Dad. But I’m grateful for the time we had.

He and Darien had enjoyed their soup and fresh bread, laughed while eating the warped ginger cookies, and only failed to roast chestnuts by an open fire because they had no chestnuts. Also because he didn’t trust any of the mansion’s fireplaces without the attentions of a good chimneysweep. And because chestnut-roasting was apparently some arcane tradition he’d never learned. British, maybe. They’d made fun of the odd lyrics in other carols too.

He’d even concocted hot cocoa of sorts, from a scavenged chocolate bar. The sweet taste lingered on his lips, though no sweeter than the memory of Darien’s smile when Silas presented him with the treat. Then Darien had licked out the inside of his mug with very suggestive sweeps of his tongue, and left Silas to deal with the plates and the lights while he went upstairs to get ready for bed. That wicked smile had been just as appealing as the sweet one. Silas tugged at the tight placket of his slacks, thinking of Darien, up on their bed, waiting.

Grim said by his knee, “I assume I should keep the pup occupied for an hour?”

Silas jerked his hand away from his slacks and huffed a laugh. “I’m sure Pip knows what Darien and I are doing.”

“Well, the smell is a giveaway.”

Silas winced.

“But I don’t want to answer questions about the sounds.” Grim pitched his voice high. “‘Why is he calling for Jesus, Grim? Is he scared?’ Nope, I’m taking advantage of this big house.”

“I don’t know what I’d do without you,” Silas quipped. Then more seriously, “I mean that, Grim, I—”

Grim smacked his shin with a paw, heavily but without claws. “Don’t let all this tradition make you sentimental.”

“The heavens forbid.”

“I’ll go get the puppy. We might work on running staircases in the dark. I can sit at the bottom of the tower stair and critique.”

“Don’t break Darien’s familiar.”

“He’s half made of rubber. He’ll be fine.” Grim voice was almost a purr. “Don’t worry, we’ll both keep our youngsters happy.”

“What a year, huh?”

Grim’s tone shifted, thin and oddly cadenced. “Just wait till next year.” He cleared his throat. “Ah, don’t mind me. Go make Darien happy; tell him it’s his Christmas gift.” He dashed off, paws suddenly silent on the hardwood. A flicker of movement behind the treetop showed him reaching the landing above.

Silas followed more slowly, and as he reached the bedroom door, Grim came out, followed by Pip.

“I was sleeping,” Pip said. “But I’m awake now. Are we having an adventure?”

Silas bent and stroked the dog’s head, then rubbed a finger on Grim’s cheek. “Have fun, you two. If you get bored, there’s a package in the fridge, wrapped in brown paper. A nice, thin slice of steak apiece, fresh from the butcher.”

Grim’s purr vibrated against his hand. “What a pleasant thought. But you’ll have to earn it, pup.”

“I can do that. Is steak better than tuna?”

“A dog might say so. Come along.”

Silas waited until the familiars had descended the stairs, then slipped into his room. In the mellow light of one small bedside lamp, Darien lay stretched across the covers, bare except for a pair of flannel pajama pants.

“There you are.” Darien sat up on his elbows. “I’ll have you know, looking sexy is tough in this drafty mausoleum. I was more naked ten minutes ago.”

“You keep calling our house that—”

“You’re telling me it’s not a giant, stupidly-ornate building founded on ghosts?”

“A mausoleum has a tomb at its heart. This house has you.”

The grin disappeared from Darien’s face, leaving his eyes dark and wide. “Every time I think you’re not a romantic, you say something like that.”

Silas tried for what he was afraid was ponderous humor. “I’m told the way to prevent chilblains is shared bodily warmth.”

Darien’s smile returned. “It’s not my blains that are chill. But that sounds like a good plan. C’mere.” He patted the bed beside him.

Silas closed and locked the door, and began methodically stripping off his clothes. Or, perhaps not methodically. Perhaps he bent a bit more deeply to remove his socks, and rotated his shoulders longer, taking off his shirt. Foolishness. But the heat of Darien’s eyes on him made him want to be foolish.

He knew his body could still be called decent, lean but not thin, still taut-skinned and with a width of shoulders. I’m only thirty. He hadn’t felt young in a long time. Not since the power transfer when Harrowsmith died. But with Darien, suddenly all things were possible.

He sat on the bed beside Darien and bent over him. That full mouth begged for a kiss, and he gave it several. Darien murmured against his lips. “A good start.”

“Are you going to provide running commentary?”

“I might.”

He couldn’t hold back a snort. “Lie back, and get rid of those damned pajamas. I want to see you.”

Darien did as he was told, and Silas knelt on the bed, looking down at him. How has he become so dear to me so fast? He laid a hand on Darien’s chest over his heart and imagined the throb echoing up his arm and into his own chest, linked to his own heart as no other man’s ever had been. Darien’s eyes dilated and his lips curled up in a smile that left Silas breathless. Darien’s nipples pebbled tighter at his touch.

“An inch to the left,” Darien murmured.

“Hush, you.” He bent and kissed Darien’s mouth firmly. When Darien would have deepened the kiss, Silas moved on, brushing his lips against the sharp rise of elegant cheekbones, the straight nose, the fine eyebrows and the tiny crease just beginning between them. Darien’s eyes fluttered shut and Silas took the invitation to feather a kiss to each lid, then one on the little collection of laugh lines at each corner. Battle scars.

He kissed the determined jut of Darien’s chin, and then slid his mouth down the column of his neck. When he reached the collarbones, he pressed his tongue in the hollow and sucked there. Darien murmured and shifted on the bed.

Silas sat up and swung a leg over to straddle Darien’s hips. Below him, evidence of Darien’s interest rose proud and tall, but he ignored it to lean forward and kiss each rounded shoulder, then back to Darien’s chest. His ribs were less painfully sharp than they had been, healthy flesh filling in now he was eating and sleeping. Mostly. He still has nightmares.

At the reminder, Silas lifted Darien’s arm to press his mouth over the burn scar that marred his skin. What did not kill him made him stronger. But the rough skin under his lips brought a pang to his chest, and he lavished attention a moment longer. Then one nipple and the other, firm nubs between his lips. A dusting of hair grew between them, where none had been just a few weeks ago. The low light glinted off one silver strand. Badge of courage. Silas secretly kissed that one.

“You’re moving kind of slow,” Darien said. “Need a manual?”

“I want time to look.” To make love. He’d never thought of sex that way before Darien, but tonight, that was what this was.

“Oh, you can look.” Darien arched his back, making his erection bob, then flexed his biceps. “Admire. Worship.”

“Cherish?” Silas offered.

Darien’s tone softened. “Cherish is a good word.”

Silas went on kissing, licking, nibbling, yes, cherishing the gift of this man in his bed. By the time he rose back up from Darien’s ankles to his thighs, Darien was fidgeting and bucking, murmuring, “Come on, c’mon, Silas.”

He moved up to quiet those mobile lips, and Darien wrapped strong arms around him, tugging him down flat over his body. Silas couldn’t resist thrusting down, his hard dick trapped against Darien’s skin, the rod of Darien’s erection prodding his stomach.

“Like this.” Darien kept a hand behind Silas’s head and clamped the other over his ass. “Please.” He kissed Silas openmouthed, wet and needy.

Silas had come to bed with plans, goals, but they evaporated in the press of Darien’s body against his own. He didn’t need fancy, just this. Darien’s mouth on his, tongue demanding entrance. Darien’s hand hauling him down tighter and tighter as they ground together. Darien’s breathy moans and grunts, and the slick rub against his belly where Darien’s hardness slid against him.

He grabbed Darien’s head between his hands, holding him still for a longer kiss. Darien clutched Silas’s ass with both hands now, kneading and tugging, clamping down as he bucked up harder and faster against him. They panted, jostled, driving against each other, all technique lost in the need to kiss and thrust and get closer, harder— “Ah. Hells!” Silas came as hard as he could ever remember, spilling against Darien’s skin, his cock trapped in the tight space between them, friction so perfect he saw spots before his eyes.

Before he could catch his breath, Darien cried out and jolted under him. Spurts of cum coated Silas’s stomach, sticky and wet and he wanted Darien’s essence even closer, all over him, in him. He cradled Darien’s head and kissed him, mouth and chin and jaw and mouth again.

Darien laughed, his eyes bright. “Hell, yeah.”

Silas buried his face in Darien’s shoulder and panted. “A man could… live on that alone.”

Darien kissed his ear. “Not hardly. We haven’t tried Clarice’s Christmas cake.”

Silas choked and laughed out loud. “You’ll be the death of me.”

“I hope not.” The light words faded to something heavier.

Silas lifted his head to look Darien in the eyes. “You are the life of me. Never doubt it.”

Darien shook his head. “What does that even mean?”

Silas had never been one to put feelings into words, but for Darien, he could learn new things. “My life, this house, they were… dusty and dry and lacking, until you brought life into them.”

“The house is still dusty, man.” Darien’s lips were sober but a smile lurked in his eyes.

“I’m endeavoring to craft a declaration of love here.”

Darien waved a limp hand. “By all means. Carry on.”

Sometimes simple words were best. “I love you. You came into my life like a bolt from the blue, and now I can’t imagine life without you.”

“Less sex? Fewer pine needles?”

“Well, that, indubitably.”

Darien smiled and touched Silas’s cheek. “Crazy, right? I met you again, and everything turned upside down. And out of that upheaval, came this, this thing between us that feels so strong and so important. Like being tossed in a blender and coming out wearing a gold crown.”

“Something like that. Yes.”

Darien tugged at Silas and kicked and tugged at the blankets, until he had them settled facing each other, with the covers over them.

“You’re doing the laundry,” Silas muttered, because he felt too full of sentiment.

“You send out your laundry.”

“I can change that.”

Darien gave his pillow a punch and rubbed his cheek against it like a cat. “Nice bed, nice house, and you.” He yawned. “Sometimes this life seems like a dream, but I don’t want to ever wake up.”

“Less like a dream when something’s trying to kill us,” Silas pointed out before he could stop himself. Good way to ruin the mood.

Darien nodded. “True. You figure that’s going to happen again?”

Silas remembered Grim’s light voice, vacant eyes, Just wait till next year. “It might,” he said cautiously.

Darien fumbled under the covers and took his hand. “We’re pretty hard to kill, you and me.”

“We are.” He took comfort in the truth of that, and he’d do whatever it took to improve on it. “You should ask Jasper about lessons. Maybe someone else too. If you’re not formally an apprentice, there’s nothing to say you can’t study with more than one sorcerer.”

“Not tonight.” Darien squeezed his fingers.

“Of course not.”

“It’s Christmas Eve. We have everything we need, and you’re the one lying in the wet spot. It’s bliss.”

Silas chuckled. He’d never laughed like this, before Darien. “Anything for you, my love.”

“Anything?”

Silas braced himself for demands for a blow job, or the moon. “Yes.”

“Would you get up and open the door so Pip and Grim can come in? I don’t want to move.”

Love as light as sea foam bubbled up inside Silas, until he felt like he could float to the door. “Your wish is my command, my prince,” he said, folding back the covers and sprinting through the chilly air to turn the latch. When he came back, he dug a few handkerchiefs out of his drawer and helped Darien mop his damp skin, before doing a perfunctory cleanup on himself. Rolling the dirty wipes in a clean one, he decided against a naked sprint to the hamper, set the laundry on the floor, and stretched out. A little tussle with the blankets got them warmly covered. Darien pulled Silas in to spoon against him, his lean body a comfort at Silas’s back. Silas let himself be maneuvered and held.

Darien kissed the nape of his neck. “Thank you. And you’re still in the wet spot.”

“Worth it.” Silas lifted Darien’s hand from his hip, and pressed it to his chest. Whatever may come, whatever the price, a thousand times worth it. He drifted off to sleep with Darien’s palm warm over his heart.

Chapter 8 – Grim

The old house still held secrets Grim hadn’t uncovered. Most of them were minor, some seemed more intriguing, like the crawl space Pip had found by falling through a rotten board under the tower stairs. Grim peered down at him, giving the space a listen and a sniff. The dark tunnels were clearly occupied by rodents right now, but they’d be worth a bit of an explore. Nothing occult made itself felt to Grim’s Othersense. Probably just another cranny in a house full of them.

Pip peered up from the hole and shook the dust and cobwebs from his head. He eyed the narrow tunnel where naked tails had vanished. “Should I chase them? If I caught a rat, I could give it to Darien for a Christmas present.”

Grim held back a chuckle. I’d like to see that. “Rodent gifts are my specialty.” When my men need a wake-up call. “Leave them for now.”

“Okay.” Pip scrambled up out of the hole and shook his whole body, sending more dust flying.

Grim didn’t smell any blood, and the pup’s vigorous efforts didn’t seem to be causing him pain. He doesn’t appear to have suffered from his mishap. In which case… Grim slowly and fastidiously removed a strand of flying cobweb from his fur and gave the pup a stern glare.

“Sorry,” Pip said. “I had to shake.”

In a fake-hollow tone, Grim said, “I see many, many hours in your future spent learning to control that body’s instincts.”

“Ooh! Is that a foresight?”

“That’s a promisss,” he hissed, then laughed. His own instinct to pause everything and give himself a tongue-bath was strong, even after all these years. The youngster would do just fine. “Enough rat patrols for tonight. Come along.”

“Okay. Can we have steak now?”

“One more job.” Grim led the way through the echoing corridors, down the half-flight, and into the used part of the house. He swung on the door handle to the cellar steps, dropping nimbly to the floor as the door swung open. “Now follow me, carefully. Do not fall down these stairs and mess anything up. Stay on the bottom step.”

“Yes, Grim.”

He padded carefully down to the slate floor where the rune-map of Silas’s tracking spell glimmered faintly from the trickle of power feeding the spell. Grim made his way between the lines, feeling for changes. If they’d come down here before that council meeting, Burns might not have caught them by surprise. They’d now expanded the western part out to include Clarice and Jasper— Silas encompassing a wider territory without comment on either of their parts.

Silas is the strongest necromancer I’ve met. Let that be enough.

A little hint of dark, a twinge from his foresight, dimmed those lines for an instant. But when he chased the warning, closing his eyes to see better, he couldn’t locate it. In his Othersight, the runes and nodes all glowed safe and serene. No hint of demonic power growing. The future, then. With an effort, Grim set his worries aside. If he started dwelling in the future, he’d never appreciate the present.

Which promises the pleasures of a quiet night and a tasty steak.

He turned and bounded up the steps past Pip, who followed him. “What was that? It’s pretty.”

“You saw the runes?”

“Of course. I do have Othersight.”

He bopped the puppy, on principle. “Don’t get cocky. That’s a warning system Silas cooked up. All quiet tonight.”

“Oh, that’s good.”

A moment of nostalgia took him past the kitchen toward the front stairs, Pip trotting behind him. The big tree stood dark and fragrant. He imagined the boughs wreathed with Darien’s laughter, lights powered by Silas’s indulgent smile, with the pup bouncing till the branches shook, and the star he himself had placed nestled at the top. Another strand in the connections between us.

Pip gazed up at the tree, his nose working. “I don’t understand Christmas, but it has wonderful smells.”

“It’s a ritual, a celebration. Humans like them, and they have a bonding power, even without magic in them. My first necromancer was very fond of this one.” A twinge of loss hit him, and he whirled back to the kitchen, picking up his pace.

“You never talk about your other partners.” Pip loped after him. “What happened to them? Was finding a new partner hard?”

A new partner marks the loss of an old one. Of course it was hard. He ignored the questions to open the fridge and snag out the package of steak. A sharp claw worked to split the butcher paper, revealing two thin slices of prime beef. He grabbed the bigger one, as was his due, and pushed the other on the paper toward Pip. “Fill your pie-hole.”

“Pie?”

“Eat your steak.” He crouched over his, as Pip began worrying at the edge of his slice, chewing off bites. The meat smelled good, but Grim didn’t dig in. You never know what information might be important. He’s a fellow familiar, even if a young and ignorant one. “Silas is my third partner, all necromancers. I seem to have an affinity for them.”

Pip made a little sound around the slice of beef, but blessedly didn’t ask questions.

“My first partnership was a short one. We’d barely bonded when an earthquake hit the city where we lived. A wall came down on him. I couldn’t save him.” Six months, one Christmas full of bemused study of his human love for mistletoe and greenery, carols and ribbons, then he was gone.

Pip set down his steak and asked in a small voice, “Did you go home?”

“No, I felt the pull, but I resisted it. I’d barely seen anything of the human world, and I was curious.” I was hurting and not ready to face anyone. The pup didn’t need to know that part. “I roamed for a while. Cat form is perfect for that.” He smirked. “Imagine Clicks the gecko trying to make his way around in the snow.”

Pip nodded. “Poor Clicks.”

Well, that wasn’t the effect he’d been going for, but the pup did have a good heart. “Then I felt another call, a new magic, and I followed that appeal. That was my second partner. We were together a long time, though he wasn’t young when we met.” Gregor had failed in his seeking spell as a young man and tried again at age forty, with experience under his belt. “A lot of adventures.” His throat closed for a moment, remembering Gregor at the end of his life. “It’s been an adventure, Grim. Don’t be sad.” Well, no necromancer had ever been able to tell him what to do.

He bit into his steak, chewing off small bites, relishing the sharp, clean taste on his tongue.

“Did you wander again?”

He licked his whiskers and smirked as if amused to contradict the pup, so Pip wouldn’t see the underlying pang. “Nope, that time I went home.” Heart-sore and sure I’d never partner again. “I’d learned a lot, and I started teaching at the seekers’ academy. Bunch of ignorant young louts, but there were some promising ones among them.” Being be back home, settled in the community, working with the youngsters, had gradually healed his sore spirit. But then the good memories began to rise, and nothing there held the same intensity as his human partnership. “One day, I felt another pull.”

Pip bounced. “That was Silas?”

“That was Silas.” He took another bite, remembering the glowing warmth of bonding taking hold again, and young Silas, with his bright eyes and sharp mind, and kind hands. “Inexperienced and a bit arrogant, but powerful even then. He needed me to bring him down a notch.” And to back him up and help him. Foolish man, always tries to do too much on his own.

“Do you think Darien needs me?”

“You helped save his life already. I’d say that was obvious.”

They finished their treat in silence. When the steak had been polished off, Grim explained to Pip how to dispose of the paper in the bin under the sink, with the right paw-hook to pull the cabinet door open. He didn’t suggest licking the floor clean. Well, he’d intended it as a joke, but why stop the pup once he’d started?

In fact— He jumped up to the counter, fished a ginger cookie off the half-empty platter, and batted it to the floor as well. Purely for the fun of watching the pup chase the fragments around the kitchen, of course. No other reason.

Once Pip’s clean-up was done, Grim made sure the fridge was shut tight and led the way to the stairs in the dim light. You men had better have finished with your mating, because I want my soft bed.

Pip murmured, “Do you ever miss home?”

Grim stopped to look back at him. “Our world? Now and then. When the humans get ridiculous, I yearn for some logic.” Or a sunset seen through the virdiyan branches, or a Mind Gathering on Solstice night. “Not enough to regret being here. Are you homesick, pup?”

“Not really. Not if I couldn’t take Darien with me. Just, sometimes things here are so strange.”

“Aye, that they are.” He chuckled. “Stick with me and our men, young Pip, and we’ll get you through the strangeness.” On an impulse, he swarmed up the big tree, enjoying the stretch of his muscles climbing branch to branch. Three quarters of the way up, he stepped out on a stronger limb and leaped cleanly to the banister, and then up to the top step. The star still winked safely in the highest notch.

He turned to look down on Pip. “There’s a lot to enjoy here. Bodies that work in different ways. Scents and sounds.”

“And steak?”

“And tuna.” He remembered Gregor. “And adventures.”

Pip clattered lightly up the steps. “And Darien. I like him more than anything.”

And our men. The bond with his necromancer was a different thing from how he’d cared for sibs and parents, friends and even scene-mates, back home. Their connection had a richness, a depth and weight in both hope and pain that was intense. Addictive maybe. He wouldn’t call it love. He wasn’t some kind of sentimental fool. But it was… something.

“Come along,” he said. “We’ve earned our places on the bed.”

Pip lowered his voice to a whisper. “We should be careful not to wake them.”

Grim swung on the door handle, and the door— waiting unlocked for them— creaked open. “Nonsense, child,” he said, strolling in. “They’re lucky to have us. It never hurts them to be reminded.”

With three bounds and a bigger leap, he launched himself onto the mattress. Silas grunted as Grim landed against his chest, but then his necromancer scrunched back to make more room on the pillows. Grim moved up to the softest spot, turned in three circles, and heard the pup jump to the foot of the bed and curl up there. Yes, that’s where you belong, young Pip. Whereas I—

When he’d compressed the pillow to his liking, he settled down beside Silas’s head. Extending both paws, he kneaded Silas’s shoulder lightly, claws carefully sheathed. He wasn’t sure why that soothed him— sometimes his cat body made itself known in unexpected ways— but he’d learned not to always resist. This world had many pleasures, and some could be indulged.

The room settled into quiet. Darien breathed lightly against Silas’s back. Silas snuffled, then his breath slowed. Pip slept, a tiny whine followed by a contented sigh, and then a whisper of a snore. Grim settled his cheek into the pillow, tucked his paws under, and flicked his tail so the hairs tickled Silas’s face. After a moment, Silas puffed and ducked his chin lower. Grim took pity, and curled his tail in too.

As for me, this is definitely where I belong. Then, in fond memory of a necromancer who never got to grow old, in pleasure at the fullness of his heart now, and in appreciation of the softness of his bed, he added, Merry Christmas to all.

#######

If you enjoyed spending the holiday with Darien, Silas, Grim, and Pip, you might like meeting Donnie and Adam, and another sweet dog.

Don’t Plan to Stay is the second chances, hurt-comfort story of two young men who deserve better than they got the first time around. This 45,000-word holiday contemporary is available wherever ebooks are sold.

Here’s a first-chapter excerpt…

Excerpt from
Don’t Plan to Stay

Chapter 1 – Donny

Six years is a long time.

It was long enough for the podunk town I grew up in to have shrunk in on itself. The bus station had shut its sandwich shop and become a dusty, hollow space. The storefronts looked shabbier, even with holiday decorations up. A crust of snow lined potholes in the roads.

Six years was long enough for a new headstone in the graveyard. They’d told me at the grocery store that Adam’s mom had died. I went to the cemetery first. I’d thought I might talk this out with her, but when I looked down at that stone – Beloved wife and mother – all I could do was wish I’d told her even once how much she was a mom to me too. In the end, I gave her the roses and walked away. They were cheap flowers, six bucks a dozen at the grocery store, no doubt frozen and dead in an hour. But she’d loved the yellow ones back when I’d known her, six years ago.

Six years was also plenty long enough for Adam to have moved out and moved on.

This is stupid.

But I pushed open the glass door of Lindberg’s Garden and Crafts and went in. And there he was behind the counter, showing some woman the timers for holiday lights. He looked damned, fucking good. His hair was really short, but he was hotter than ever, filled out a bit in the chest and shoulders. He laughed, teasing the woman, getting her to add a silly ornament to her order. December was the busy season at the nursery gift center, a good season. The scent of the pine wreaths, the gingerbread of the craft ornaments, the musty earthiness of the poinsettia pots, hit me in the gut. This had been everything to me once.

I didn’t know why I was there. Why I came back.

I knew I didn’t belong anymore.

When they let me out of prison, I’d planned to head out West. I was going to Seattle or maybe L.A., somewhere warmer and gay-friendly. I’d figured I’d work in Fargo for a while, save enough for the bus and a bit in my pocket, and start a new life. But when I finally had the fare and stepped up to the kiosk at the bus station, carols were on the radio and somehow my fingers tapped in “Tallbridge, ND.”

I’m stupid sometimes. And those are my good days.

Behind me, a laugh tugged at my memories, the faint echo of something I once knew. I turned and looked. An unfamiliar man with a full beard was bending to listen to the babbling of a small boy. After a moment, he swung the boy up on his shoulders. The kid giggled, crowing like a rooster, and tugged on the guy’s hair. “Go, Daddy! Horsie!” When the man tipped his head around, holding the boy’s legs secure against his chest, I suddenly saw it. Holy shit, that was Adam’s big brother.

A rush of crazy mixed feelings went through me, seeing Nate healthy. With a beard and a kid and, I guess, a wife. And a life. I tried to stomp on my flash of anger and envy, and think good thoughts. Nate was okay. Adam was an uncle. I hoped his mom lived long enough to see the rug-rat born.

A voice behind me said, “Can I help you?”

I didn’t turn. I didn’t even breathe.

“Is there something you’re looking for?” Adam said patiently.

You.

Without letting him see my face, I said as gruffly as I could, “No.” Then I added, “Thanks,” because I was back in the real world, and it wouldn’t kill me to be polite.

I’d changed in six years, too. A lot. My voice was deeper, and I didn’t look the same or stand the same as when I was the hot, bad boy on the block. Back before I got a lot of the attitude beat out of me. But all it took was two little words from me, for Adam to whisper, “Donnie?”

I wanted to walk away, but my feet were glued to the floor right there beside the damned teddy-bear-ornament tree. My vision sparkled. I think my fingers went numb.

Adam eased around me, moving like someone stalking a deer. When his face came into view, his eyes were huge. Maybe he was the Bambi. “Donnie? Is that you?”

I took a deep breath, then snapped, “Well, I ain’t fucking Marie, right?”

“Not unless you’ve changed teams.”

When our eyes met, it was almost like six years didn’t happen. It was me and Adam, together, me supplying the attitude and the straight lines, and Adam doling out the punch lines and the smiles. For a moment I almost grinned at him, but then the little kid laughed behind me and I remembered that time didn’t really stand still. I looked down. Adam still had feet the size of canoes in his work-boots. “I was just going.”

He grabbed my sleeve. Fast as a snake, I hit his grip off my arm, harder than I meant to, my other fist coming up. Adam flinched back, his empty palms held out. “Sorry! God, Donnie, I’m really sorry, just don’t go yet. Please!”

I dropped my fist and whirled away to hide the water in my eyes. I almost hit Adam. First time I saw him in years, and I about punched him. “I’m the one that’s sorry. It was a reflex, that’s all. Just, um, don’t grab me.”

“I won’t.” His voice went soft and slow. “I just want to talk to you. A few minutes, an hour. I want to know you’re okay. I’ve missed you so fucking much!”

Adam was always braver than me. I muttered, “Yeah.” Me too.

He paused, like he was deciding what was safe to ask a wild man like me. I stared at the tree. There was a big teddy underneath it with this round little mirror on its stomach. I could see a warped view of Adam, half his face, looking at me, his gaze steady but his lips pressed together uncertainly. After a moment he said, “When did you get out?”

“Six months ago.”

“You didn’t tell anyone?”

I shrugged. I didn’t want anyone to see me walk out those prison gates an ex-con.

“What did you do?”

“Looked for a job. Found one after a while.” Crappy job, cleaning public bathrooms. Me, a couple of illegal aliens, and a guy who was usually stoned. Right at minimum wage. “Saved a little money.” Mostly by squatting rather than paying rent, eating at free kitchens. My pride went, somewhere in that long, hard first year. Now I was all about making it through by whatever worked.

“I’d have come—” He stopped, cleared his throat. “No. It was your choice. I have to respect that.”

I choked a laugh. “Sounds like something your mom would have said.”

“You know she— she’s not with us anymore?” His voice had gone rough.

“I went by the graveyard.”

“Ah.” It was more a breath than a word.

I still didn’t turn.

“After I woke up in the hospital and got to where I could think about things besides the broken bones, I tried to get in touch with you. A bunch of times. I know Mom tried too, right from the beginning. They always said you didn’t want to see us, wouldn’t take our letters.”

“No point.” I hadn’t wanted what happened after I was arrested to touch them. Adam and his mom, even his brother and dad— they were special. Clean. By then I was pretty damned dirty.

“Of course there was a point!” In the little bear-tummy mirror, I saw Adam run a hand over his close-cut hair. “Well, anyway. At some point, Mom said we had to respect your choices. She said I could send a letter now and then, so you’d know I hadn’t forgotten. But it was up to you to decide if you wanted to write back or let us in.”

“I’m so sorry. About your mom.” My throat tightened so much I had to force the last word out, like a grunt. How classy.

But Adam stepped a little nearer. “She thought about you a lot, even at the end. She would say she hoped you were all right, or she wished she had enough time to wait for you to get out.”

“Fuck. Don’t tell me that.” I blinked hard, because if I wiped my eyes, he’d know. “How old is the munchkin? Your brother’s brat?”

“He’s two. She got to have some time with him.”

Figured Adam would understand why I asked. I nodded a bunch of times. “Well. That’s good. I should go.”

“Can’t we talk? I want to know what you’re doing next. Where you’ll be staying. I want to tell you about my life and the stupid shit I’m doing.”

“I don’t need to know about your shit.”

“You were all up in my shit once.”

“Jesus, Adam!”

“Donnie!” He mimicked my tone, then softened again. “We were best friends and boyfriends and more. That didn’t go away for me because you were driving drunk and got in an accident. Or even because you pled guilty to a bunch of charges and served time. I was drunk in the same damned car, remember?”

“I pled guilty to fucking criminal vehicular homicide, Adam. Not just DUI or open bottle.” Well, those too, although the open can of beer under my seat had been his. I wondered how much he remembered. Probably not much, given that he was in hospital for months afterward. Him and Nate both got hurt. It was a wonder their mom didn’t curse my name.

“You’re all healed up, right?” I asked. I had nightmares about what I’d done to Adam. Even after I finally opened one of his mom’s letters, just to know for sure, and she said they were both good now.

“Yeah. Everything healed fine. It’s you I want to hear about.”

“I did time. I’m a con. I did shit inside I’m not fucking proud of. You don’t know me anymore.”

“I want to.”

“You don’t.”

“The hell I don’t. You get to speak your mind, but you’ve got to respect my opinion too. I’ve been waiting to see you again, Donnie.”

“I call bullshit. You gonna tell no-one else has been in your pants in six years?” It was fucking stupid that I held my breath in some illogical brain-freeze of hope.

Stupider that the breath left my chest when he said, “Of course there has. I’ve dated a couple of guys, messed around with a few more.”

“Me too,” I grunted. “Without the dating part. So—”

“Donnie. None of those guys were you. Not one of them stopped me from wondering what you were doing, how you felt, what was happening to you, pretty nearly every day.”

That what-was-happening shit was stuff I was never gonna tell him. But his words were a little flame in my cold body. “Oh.”

He moved closer. “I want to get to know you again. So we’ve both changed? That doesn’t mean we can’t be friends.”

And more? I hadn’t wanted to fuck anyone in a long time, but my whole body came alert at the thought of naked Adam. The buzz was great for a moment, but then it got swamped by nausea. I gritted my teeth. As right as Adam had been for me once, he was dead wrong now. But the idea of having him back as a friend was more damned seductive than sex. “I could maybe hang around for an hour.”

“Good! God, that’s great. Just wait right there, okay? Don’t move. Promise?”

“Um. All right.”

“That’s a promise?”

“Yeah.”

He hurried off and I stood there like a dummy. It was my chance to get lost for good, but I didn’t, because I’d never once broken my word to Adam.

I heard him return after a moment. “Here.” He moved up close behind me, slowly, but not stopping until I could feel his heat through the worn denim of my jeans.

“Here, what?” I stared down at the mirror on the bear, even though Adam was hidden behind my warped reflection.

“Here. A Christmas present.”

I didn’t move, deliberately speaking rough. “I ain’t got nothin’ for you.”

“Don’t be dumb. I don’t need anything. Put out your hand.” He stood close enough for me to feel his breath on my neck, his chest against my shoulder as he sneaked an arm around me, holding something in his closed hand.

I didn’t want to take anything from him. It was too much, too hard. But it’d been six years since I’d got a gift. Unwillingly, I raised my arm, opened my hand. He dropped something into it, a cool metal shape with a tangle of bits. I looked more closely.

The basic part was a Swiss Army knife, a good one with all the attachments. I knew the very one. The week before everything went to hell we’d been looking at online catalogs, picking out good shit. I’d seen this, with everything from a saw blade to a pair of tweezers, and wanted it, even though there was no way I could’ve afforded it.

I turned it in my hands. It had a little loop at one end, to hang it by. Attached to the loop were a bunch of random things, like a lumpy tassel of charms.

Adam murmured, “You said the knife was perfect. That a guy could get out of just about any tight spot with that. I bought it for you, the first year, when I thought I could still visit you for Christmas.”

I snorted loudly to cover the ache of that. “Dumbass. They’d never let you give a guy in prison a knife.”

“I know that, Dumberass. I thought I’d show you a picture, like a promise. And give you that.” He reached into my palm, and ticked one of the little charm-things with his finger tip.

“What the hell is that?”

“A four-leafed clover. A real one, inside liquid plastic. An Irish one. They promised on the website. For luck.”

“You believed a website? It’s probably from China. Probably a mutant Chernobyl clover.”

“Chernobyl’s in northern Ukraine, not China.” He flipped another of the charms, a silver shape. “That was for your nineteenth birthday. It’s Navajo, with a sun and an arrow for luck.”

It was a little tarnished, like real silver. I swallowed.

“Now, this one is Chinese.” I heard a smile in his voice. “A jade coin.” He tapped the others. “A rudrakesh nut, a new penny, the nail from a horseshoe, a sprig of rosemary.” He leaned in closer, his head alongside mine. “I made the little cover for the rosemary from a stamp case. Then here— an actual ancient scarab. A freaking mini rainbow unicorn, because I saw it when we were ordering ornaments for the store last year. I wouldn’t have brought that to a prison, though.”

I closed both hands over the whole thing, hiding it, holding it. “No rabbit’s foot?”

“Not very lucky for the rabbit, is it? Nope, no dead feet.”

“Oh.” I could feel all the little edges and corners pressing into my palms. “Thanks.”

“Merry Christmas, Donnie. I’m glad I finally was able to give it to you. Whatever comes next, that’s how much good luck you deserve.”

“I don’t fucking deserve anything.”

“How much luck I want you to have, then.”

Wouldn’t that be something different? I slid the knife with the charms into my pocket.

Adam’s voice was like smoke in my ear. Soft, almost unnoticeable. “Will you stay? At least for a while? Let me get to know you again and make sure you’re going to be okay? You’re welcome at the house—” He must’ve felt me shiver because he went on smoothly, “—or you could use the room behind the office here. The heating still sucks, but at least the floor has a carpet now. The couch is still the same one.”

I had some damn fond memories of that room, both the couch and the old concrete floor. I’d sometimes slept in there when my mom was boozed up and I didn’t want to go home. It was a cold little space, meant as an employee break room, musty, sparsely furnished, not a place people usually want to linger. But there was a bathroom next to it, and a little window onto the open space of the tree nursery, and the couch was long.

I didn’t want to admit how good it sounded. “Yeah, maybe.”

About the Author

I get asked about my name a lot. It’s not something exotic, though. “Kaje” is pronounced just like “cage” – it’s an old nickname, and my pronouns are she/her/hers. I was born in Montreal but I’ve lived for 30 years in Minnesota, where the two seasons are Snow-removal and Road-repair, where the mosquito is the state bird, and where winter can be breathtakingly beautiful. Minnesota’s a kind, quiet (if sometimes chilly) place and it’s home.

I’ve been writing far longer than I care to admit (*whispers – forty-five years*), mostly for my own entertainment, usually M/M romance (with added mystery, fantasy, historical, sci-fi…) I also have a few Young Adult stories (under the pen name Kira Harp).

My first professionally published book, Life Lessons, came out from MLR Press in May 2011. I have a weakness for closeted cops with honest hearts and teachers who speak their minds, and I was delighted and encouraged by the reception Mac and Tony received.

I now have a good-sized backlist in ebooks and print, including Amazon bestseller The Rebuilding Year and Rainbow Award winner for “Best Mystery-Thriller” Tracefinder: Contact. Readers can find a complete list of my books with links on my website at https://kajeharper.com/books/

I’m always pleased to have readers find me online:

Website: https://kajeharper.com/

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/KajeHarper

Facebook group: Kaje’s Conversation Corner: https://www.facebook.com/groups/208207893795147/

Goodreads Author page: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4769304.Kaje_Harper

Other Books by Kaje Harper

Self-Published/Indie:

Changes Coming Down (Changes #1)

Changes Going On (Changes #2)

Tracefinder: Contact (Tracefinder #1)

Tracefinder: Changes (Tracefinder #2)

Tracefinder: Choices (Tracefinder #3)

The Family We’re Born With (Finding Family #1) – free novella

The Family We Make (Finding Family #2)

Rejoice, Dammit

Unfair in Love and War

(in the charity anthology Another Place in Time)

Not Your Grandfather’s Magic

(in the charity anthology Wish Come True)

Don’t Plan to Stay

Love and Lint Rollers

Second Act

Marked by Death (Necromancer #1)

Powered by Ghosts (Necromancer #2)

A Midnight Clear

Audiobooks:

Into Deep Waters – Narrated by Kaleo Griffith

The Rebuilding Year – Narrated by Gomez Pugh

Life, Some Assembly Required – Narrated by Gomez Pugh

Building Forever – Narrated by Gomez Pugh

Re-releases:

The Rebuilding Year (Rebuilding Year #1)

Life, Some Assembly Required (Rebuilding Year #2)

Building Forever (Rebuilding Year #2.5)

Sole Support

Gift of the Goddess

Fair Isn’t Life

Re-releasing in 2021:

Life Lessons (Life Lessons #1)

Breaking Cover (Life Lessons #2)

Home Work (Life Lessons #3)

Learning Curve (Life Lessons #4)

Unacceptable Risk (Hidden Wolves #1)

Unexpected Demands (Hidden Wolves #2)

Unjustified Claims (Hidden Wolves #3)

Unsafe Exposure (Hidden Wolves #4)

Storming Love: Nelson & Caleb

Full Circle

Where the Heart Is

Ghosts and Flames

Possibilities

Tumbling Dreams (currently out of print)

Free series stories:

And To All a Good Night (Life Lessons #1.5)

Getting It Right (Life Lessons #1.8)

Compensations (Life Lessons #3.5)

Unsettled Interlude (Hidden Wolves #1.15)

Unwanted Appeal (Hidden Wolves #2.5)

Can’t Hurt to Believe (Into Deep Waters #1.005)

Stand-alone free novels:

Into Deep Waters

Nor Iron Bars a Cage

Chasing Death Metal Dreams

Lies and Consequences

Laser Visions

Stand-alone free short stories:

Like the Taste of Summer

Show Me Yours

Within Reach

Shooting Star

A full list with blurbs, and download and buy links can be found at:

http://www.kajeharper.com/books/